


Betwixt mine eye and heart

by Del (goddessdel)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Archaeology class, F/M, Professor!River, almost-linear River/Doctor, slow-burn angst, takes place during series 7B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 82,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not until the Towers that he goes back for her journal. And not for a long time after that. For a while, after, he hides away and tries to hate the universe for robbing him of someone so important. He gave River both his hearts and she is buried with them in the Library. He doesn't care anymore. Or so he tries to tell himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The alternate title for this work is: "How the Doctor studied Archaeology (and liked it)," and is actually more fluffy, once it gets going.
> 
> Title is from Shakespeare. I know: hopelessly pretentious.

It's not until the Towers that he goes back for her journal. And not for a long time after that. For a while, after, he hides away and tries to hate the universe for robbing him of someone so important. He gave River both his hearts and she is buried with them in the Library. He doesn't care anymore. Or so he tries to tell himself.

 

But once he is cajoled and threatened and generally tricked (if the universe would just stop handing him mysteries all wrapped up in shiny boxes! He loves mysteries - it's one of the reasons he loves River so) into rejoining the universe and saving it all over again, he goes back for her diary.

 

It is not that it has stopped hurting. It really, really has not. Every time he hears his hearts beat he always starts a moment in surprise - certain that they're no longer in his chest. There is a painful emptiness where her heartbeats should echo his.

 

But he is trying to be the man he used to be, the man River made him want to be. He was drifting a long time before River. Since the Time War his patience has been shorter, his hearts heavier. He keeps losing things. And now he's lost her. He's lost himself. If he's going to start gallivanting across the universe again, just a madman in a blue box, he needs River.

 

So he collects her diary. He parks the TARDIS right up against the ledge. He cracks the door open and feels along the railing with one hand outstretched and his eyes squeezed shut. When his fingers skitter nervously across the bound leather of her diary, the shock of pain almost brings him to his knees. He just manages to stay upright, grabbing her diary and sonic just long enough to get them into the TARDIS, slamming the door shut and reversing back into the vortex before the pain robs him of the ability to move or think or breathe or do _anything_ ever again.

 

When the flurry of activity is over, he finds himself even more drained than usual. It's so much _work_ lately to keep up the mask. To be the Doctor. He slides haphazardly down to the floor, back against the reassuring hum of the console, and simply stares at the little blue book for so long that even he loses track of time. It feels somehow wrong to touch it. Even the brief memory of the leather under his palm burns him with images of River's fingers stroking where his have just been.

 

Finally, weary, he gathers up the fragile old book and lets the memories engulf him. This is what he came for: to find her again. To mourn and to love and to laugh and to remember how to be the Doctor. Too much of the time he hates himself, more than anything. But River has always loved him in spite of and because of all the parts he hides behind too-quick smiles and enthusiasm he doesn't really feel.

 

When he starts to turn the pages, reliving their lives in her order, it is everything he could have wished for and more. The pages are full of sprawling notes and hastily scribbled margins. The first few - her time in university - he's not lived yet. And he hastily flips past, hearing her warning _spoilers_ clear as day, and torn between a sort of giddy excitement and a hollow ache.

 

He knows that he will visit her, from vague spoilers River has already let slip, from their wedding, from their lives. He wonders how long it will take him to be able to see her at her beginning without feeling the ragged, gaping hole left by her end. He wonders if it will be at his end. Truly back to front one last time.

 

The date and time of his death at Lake Silencio take up an entire page in bold strokes. It stabs at him until he realizes that this was before she went. These are notes. Some sort of academic and research interest, perhaps a part of her thesis. Such an archaeologist. He shouldn't like that, but he kind of does.

 

After that, he settles in for their adventures. The pages are full of them. Written in pen and laser and charcoal and lipstick and once or twice in what certainly tastes like River's blood. That makes his aching hearts stop, reminding him painfully that they're still there, no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

 

Sometimes her entries are nothing more than a carefully curated word and coordinates, as though at any time one of them could go back and relive it. Sometimes there are pages sprawling full of highly detailed depictions of their times together, leaving him rapt and blushing. Occasionally she just writes, her thoughts spilling across the page, usually about him, even though he knows she is not referencing anything in particular. Sometimes she writes her entries _to_ him, as though she has always known that he will be reading them. Half of these are exasperated and half are elaborate love letters in disguise.

 

About midway through, he realizes that the book is bigger on the inside. He doesn't remember it being that way when he gave it to her, but he rather suspects he ought to have known. It is somehow comforting.

 

By the time he gets toward the end, through all the tears and laughter and fond annoyance that River's diary contains, the Doctor starts to feel the same weary dread fill him again. They are headed to the Towers, to the Library, all over again, and he cannot. He barely withstood it the first time.

 

He's just about to close her diary up again, close himself up again, when he finds the entry:

 

_The Doctor appeared in the middle of my Middle Ancient Earth History (1900-3000 CE) lecture again. That man. I swear he gets some sort of twisted pleasure out of disrupting my lectures. If he gets me sacked, I'll kill him twice._

 

The Doctor pauses. There's something about her careful wording. Her entries after Stormcage have been more detailed and relaxed, as though she knew the only person she had to worry about reading them was him. So why then is this one entry so deliberately vague? The more he puzzles over it, the more certain he is. Without even consciously deciding, the Doctor pushes himself up and starts fiddling with controls, nose still stuck in River's diary and trusting his Old Girl to get him where he needs to be. Suddenly, he is positively giddy again, bouncing on his toes and spinning around the console.

 

Because she said _again_. "Oh, my bad, bad girl."

 

Her diary never mentions another visit. The Doctor hastily shoves said diary into his breast pocket and strides out of the TARDIS doors the second she lands. _River. Professor Song._ He is going to be in every single one of her lectures. He'll enroll if he has to. Get another doctorate. _Because there are missing pages waiting to be lived._

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments. I know I kinda put this out there with a lot of promises and then have been terribly slow at follow-up. I promise I'm working on it. The next chapter is sitting somewhere around 5k words, and it's nearly complete. Hang in there and hopefully the wait will be worth it! Also, I had to up the rating for the end of the next chapter and beyond.


	2. Chapter 2: part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pasting on his best grin - quite dashing, if he does say so himself - the Doctor throws open the large double-doors to the lecture hall and strides in with his most confident flourish.

The Doctor makes it something of a point to exit the TARDIS without looking first. River enjoyed - _enjoys_ \- teasing him about environmental checks, but they both know that between his Time Lord constitution and the TARDIS shields, there's not like to be any danger to him the second he steps out the doors. Now two seconds after, well, that's a whole other matter entirely.

 

Still, the Doctor can't help but wish he'd perhaps peaked out just a tiny bit before exiting on this one occasion. He is almost immediately flattened against the hastily closed door, pushed back by the inexorable press of thousands of students of hundreds of species rushing across the manicured lawns in what must be a hive of highly coordinated but apparently random maneuvers.

 

Passing period.

 

The Doctor scowls, hearing the distinctive TARDIS hum that always sounds like she's laughing at him. She almost certainly did this on purpose.

 

It takes the Doctor almost a full minute, wedged against the TARDIS, before he is able to get his bearings and dive through a miniscule break in the crowd. It's been some time since he's ventured across a large 51st century university, and he's not missed this part.

 

Thankfully, the giant hologram clock hovering above the walkways quickly shifts to a warning yellow and then a harsh red, announcing that the next class session has started. Once the harried students have all but disappeared in their rush to classes, the Doctor ambles across the lawn and over to the nearest information vid.

 

His Old Girl may have been having him off a bit with the passing period business, but she seems to have put him just during one of River's classes. He supposes he may have deserved it, since he was in a rather surly mood that could, perhaps, _technically_ have been brooding. And, maybe it is a little bit useful to have a few moments to think before he bursts in on River and crushes her into his arms and refuses to let her go.

 

Grudgingly offering a jerky nod toward the TARDIS, the Doctor quickly makes his way toward one of the more ornate buildings, which, naturally, houses Professor River Song.

 

The projection screen across the door reads: _Archaeology 402:_   _Middle Ancient Earth History (1900-3000 CE)_.

 

He pauses to adjust his bowtie, hair and greatcoat, wondering if he should have dug out something else so she doesn't know how far along he is. Her words echo in his head: _one does one's best to hide the damage_ , and he shakes his head to be rid of them. He'll be as honest as he can, which is always pitifully little. This far along, she knows him better than he knows himself anyway.

 

Pasting on his best grin - quite dashing, if he does say so himself - the Doctor throws open the large double-doors to the lecture hall and strides in with his most confident flourish. "Professor River Song! I'm looking forward to studying under you." He says her title with relish.

 

River pauses half way through whatever she was lecturing on, turning to stare at him with her mouth still half open and her most incredulous look.

 

The Doctor feels his hearts slam back into his chest as soon as her eyes meet his. He is simultaneously being crushed by a thousand planets and able to breathe for what feels like the first time.

 

River Song is two hundred steps, three landings and a stage away from him. In all her blazing, beautiful, _living_ glory. A River Song who he should never have seen. One who is not in either of their diaries. Looking at him with fond exasperation crinkling her eyes and pursing her lips just enough that he knows it means she is regretting ever letting him out in public. _His wife._

 

The rest of the amphitheater-sized classroom has gone perfectly quiet - even the near-constant background hum of electronics being tapped and swiped freezes to a sudden halt. In his haste, the Doctor realizes belatedly that passing period is over, which means that class has already begun. He offers River a sheepish look and wrings his hands to stop them from shaking.

 

Recovering herself admirably quickly, River gives him an exasperated shake of her head and announces briskly, "Ah, class. This is my - rather chronically late - husband." The murmurs start up even before she has completed the sentence, but River ignores them, turning toward the Doctor with an unreadable look, "Why don't you sit down, Doctor." It is not a suggestion.

 

Hurrying toward the front of the classroom, the Doctor stumbles his way across the multitudes of whispering students to sit right smack in the middle of the first row. He is torn between rapt attention and the ever-growing urge to just race up onto the stage, scoop River into his arms and never ever let her go again. Ever.

 

River just graces him with a bemused smile and half-turns back toward the projection overlaying the half of the stage that serves as her teaching floor. "As I was saying..."

 

Somewhat reluctantly, and with quite a bit of excited muttering that River pointedly ignores, the students gradually turn their gazes from the Doctor and toward their lesson, though he can still feel their occasional curious glances directed his way.

 

River makes it through two projections without her eyes leaving his. She goes through the material effortlessly, her words and gestures clearly full of an engaging passion for the topic at hand. Her smile, though, is just for him. And the Doctor can't focus on the words coming out of her mouth when she is standing right there, his whole universe, smiling at him like he's the center of hers.

 

Her next projections are more complicated and, with a slightly regretful twist to her smile, River turns her eyes toward the digital artifacts appearing on the table as she references them, her hands sweeping against them as though they are real.

 

The Doctor's hand shoots up in the air quite entirely against his will. His limbs often have minds of their own, and he generally lets them do as they please, since some part of his brain is usually five steps ahead of the rest of him on any given number of things. He's barely heard a word she's said in the last fifteen minutes, but suddenly her eyes are elsewhere and he will do _anything_ to bring them back to him. He can't help it.

 

River's eyes sweep over him with a quelling look before she moves on, answering a few other questions scattered across the room and splashed across the internet wall.

 

The Doctor raises his hand higher, bouncing in his seat and ignoring the fact that once again half the class has focused their attention on him. The other half is still fixed on River, waiting to see her response.

 

River's glare is withering this time. "As I was saying -"

 

"But that's wrong!"

 

Almost immediately, the Doctor claps both hands over his mouth, slouching back down in his chair and glancing nervously back and forth to see if there was anyone else who could have possibly spoken.

 

River turns. The full glorious weight of her attention fixed on him. "I'm sorry, Doctor. What was that?"

 

Even the holographic representations of absent students are leaning forward in their seats, rapt.

 

The Doctor removes his hands from his mouth and straightens up as best he can - crammed into auditorium seating that was clearly designed by an architect of some species that didn't actually need to breathe while sitting - and tries again. "That. What you just pointed at. It's wrong. That's from 3263, not 2392, and it's not even from Earth! That's New Martian!"

 

He's standing, working himself up to a full rant on the inaccuracies that one has to suffer with archaeology, leaning against the railing and still not anywhere near close enough to the stage and River. Of course one part of his brain was cataloging and cross-referencing everything she said. He is a genius, after all.

 

"If you're going to sit in on my classes, Doctor," River begins icily, with only a thin veneer of patience adopted for their rather large audience, "then I'll thank you to keep your opinion to yourself."

 

He's hanging half over the railing now, inches from just leaping up onto the stage, almost sputtering with indignation and enjoying the hot race of it through his veins. With anyone else, this would be a trivial debate that was hardly worth his explanations, but River makes his hearts pound and his jaw clench. Even arguing is better with River around. "My opinion! It's not an opinion, River. It's a fact. That is New Martian."

 

River's smile is all teeth. "Which is your opinion."

 

The class has gone deathly silent again, watching this exchange. The Doctor sputters and runs a shaky hand through his hair to keep from ending the argument by snogging River senseless. "Isn't that all archaeology is? Opinions and _educated_ guesses?"

 

River can be so infuriatingly - wonderfully - obstinate. One of the Doctor's hands is itching to go for his sonic, as though he could scan the hologram to prove the veracity of his words. Actually, if he re-routed the power from the projector to make a feedback loop - he can see the beginnings of a mad plan taking shape in his mind.

 

Apparently, River can see that plan as well because she finally leans back from where she had been gripping the podium and offers a too-tight laugh that is directed toward her class, her eyes leaving his for brief seconds before being inevitably drawn back to him. "One of the many joys of archaeology. Since there are inevitably discrepancies among interpretations of the past, everyone thinks that they have all the facts. Many intellectual debates over vague artifacts have resulted in exciting new discoveries or even more controversial interpretations. Did anyone else have any thoughts on σ-957, or shall we move on?"

 

The Doctor is torn between being impressed by how neatly she steered away from his - very much right - point, a bit in awe of what a good instructor she is, and annoyed that she has glossed over another glaring archeological inaccuracy when he was only trying to help her correct it. He reluctantly decides to be content just watching her, now that she is not ignoring him. Belatedly, he realizes that if he keeps antagonizing her, she's like as not to throw him out of her lecture, and he doesn't think he could stand to have her out of his sight. He doesn’t think he'll ever be able to stand it again.

 

The Doctor settles in to watch the lecture, going so far as to sit on his hands, fidgeting awkwardly but keeping his lips pressed tightly together. It's not all that difficult, even for him. He's rather too fixated on River's mouth as she talks, rounding out with her exclamations and pursing with her contemplations. He can hardly be expected to pay attention to _words_ as well.

 

That said: the majority of her lecture is spot on. River is as much of a perfectionist as he is, and was probably the one to either uncover or bury most of the artifacts she mentions. There are a few minor discrepancies, but he gets the feeling that perhaps she is leaving those in precisely because it would otherwise be impossible to know they were wrong if one wasn't used to, say, traveling through all of time and space. He's almost certain, actually, by the way her eyes challenge him when she lets these little errors enter her lecture, as though she is daring him to call her on it.

 

The Doctor just smirks back and mimes zipping his mouth shut, just for the exasperated toss of River's hair that it provokes. The one that promises retribution in his future. He really shouldn't like that. Kind of does, a bit.

 

But what he really likes is watching his wife teach. They so rarely have time to sit and observe one another without being interrupted by exploding planets or multitudes of beings trying to shoot at them (it's really rather rude). With the fresh wound of losing her, the Doctor is all the more appreciative of a moment to sit and watch River be _brilliant._

 

And oh, she is.

 

River spins tails of history that drag even the most recalcitrant university pupils to the edges of their seats with wonder. It's the details she tosses in amongst the recitations of facts - little gems here and there. Just enough to make the students feel like they really were part of that time; balancing carefully just on this side of knowledge that one would have to have been there to know. Time travel is highly regulated in this century, and alternative travel arrangements are frowned upon.

 

The Doctor is torn between a grimace at the whole Time Agency and the idea that these primitive space cowboys think they can police time when all they do is muck it up, and a decidedly inappropriate grin at the reminder that his bad girl has corrupted their technology for her own means. Not that he approves, per say, but it's _River_ \- oh, who is he kidding? With River, he's long ago lost count of the things he shouldn't approve of but kind of does anyway.

 

Startled out of his musings by several students angrily shoving past him, the Doctor awkwardly pulls his knees up on the uncomfortable little chair to let them by, realizing that the class must have been dismissed.

 

By the time he can see the stage again, past the never-ending hordes of students and backpacks and the ceaseless swell of chatter that has sprung up with the absence of the lecture, the auditorium is almost empty.

 

A few students stand nervously by River's podium, waiting to ask questions. River smiles at them kindly, and soon they're beaming back, the whole lot of them gesturing and laughing with River as she draws them out. She has that effect on people.

 

And she actually answers their questions.

 

"Now, you've not come all this way just to interrupt my class and glare at me, have you, Doctor?"

 

Her voice is closer than he'd expect, and the Doctor looks up to find River leaning enticingly over the railing toward his seat, the last of the students just disappearing behind closed doors. The Doctor crosses his arms over his chest, trying valiantly to be cross (rather than staring at River's cleavage, and had she really been wearing that shirt the whole lecture? Positively indecent!). "I bet you never tell them: _Spoilers!_ "

 

River laughs, warm and rich, and a knot in the Doctor's stomach uncoils. He clambers to his feet, uncrosses his arms, and splays them wide instead, an invitation that River takes immediately - gracefully swinging over the rail and into his arms.

 

She is surrounding him. It is overwhelming, after so long, to be caught up with the touch and scent of her. All hot tingling energy and soft curves and everything that makes River so very _River_. She sets his considerable senses on fire. The Doctor inhales her and wishes it were just that easy.

 

And then River is dragging him down to her, closer still, her lips claiming his just as hungrily. "Hello, sweetie."

 

He answers her with an urgency that cannot be put into words, crushing her to him and holding her as tight as he dares. They're long past any fumbling; they melt into each other with all the ease that such a long marriage brings, without ever losing the passion that burns between them. All consuming - as their hands roam and tongues twine - the rest of the universe fading into the background.

 

When they finally part for breath, River wriggles impatiently in his arms. "Sweetie, you're crushing me." But her voice is full of laughter, and she doesn't let go of him when he forces himself to loosen his grip.

 

The Doctor tries to look apologetic, running his hands along her back and sides in case he's hurt her. But River just pulls him in for a playfully brief kiss, her eyes teasing as her hands smooth soothingly across his shoulders. They can never keep their hands off one another, when they've got a version that is old enough to appreciate it. The Doctor is frequently amazed at the restraint River showed with his younger self, knowing first-hand how difficult it must have been for her to not snog him senseless right off. He rather enjoys it when she does.

 

He grins down at her, drinking in the sight of her, here, this her. "Look at you. Professor River Song!" He pulls back and throws his arms wide, trying to gesture at the whole room, the whole university, all at once.

 

Even these few seconds are too much time away from her, now that he's had her in his arms. The Doctor finds himself drawing closer again, fiddling nervously with River's hair instead of his own.

 

But River's eyes have changed in the second he looked away. After a moment of regarding him, River lets the smile slip from her face, worry creasing her brow. "Something is different with you, Doctor." She tries to turn the question teasing, not quite willing to dampen the mood, but doesn't quite hit the mark, "You've not called me that since the incident with the spoilers."

 

The Doctor ducks his head away because he can't give her the answer. The biggest spoiler of all. Because she's right. For the first time, her title no longer carries the bitter tang of the Library that weighs down his tongue and hearts. Instead, it is a promise. This is his River, his wife for so long now. They are as close to linear as they ever get; all the more rare by how late they are in their timelines. He has already been to the Library, and he never thought he would have this her again. He will not waste his time with her all over again.

 

So he dodges the question, grabbing River's hand and dragging her down toward the stage, quickly sonicing the sound equipment for music and dancing them across it to a waltz half a universe away and five thousand years past. River follows his steps easily, leading when he forgets the steps. The laughter is back in her eyes, though a small crinkle tells him that she's not forgotten. "Now. Wife. I finally have you all to myself. Whatever shall we do?"

 

"Well, you've already ruined my class and wrecked university property. What has gotten into you today, Doctor?" But River leans in closer to him as they dance, and he knows she isn't really complaining at all.

 

He huffs into her hair, "Oi. I did no such thing. Sitting in on your lecture is hardly ruining the class."

 

River tilts her head up to fix him with a bemused, "You hardly just sat there."

 

The Doctor just continues leading them across the stage, enjoying the moment and half-absently teasing, "Are students not allowed to ask questions now?"

 

"Not just to show off and correct the professor!" He dips her for that comment, and River gives him a look that clearly says he just proved her point.

 

The Doctor huffs again. He doesn't exactly have his hands free to fidget, and he's not about to remove them from River's body. "It's not my fault you got the artifacts mixed up." At her genuine glare, he amends sheepishly, "And I behaved after."

 

River heaves a suffering sigh that is entirely for show. "I will say, you were rather exceptionally well behaved for you, sweetie." Never one to pass up an opportunity to make him blush, she continues musingly, "I'll have to introduce you as my husband more often. I'd rather the students try to puzzle out my mysterious marriage than spread more rumors about my _extracurricular activities_."

 

And, despite everything, she succeeds. The Doctor fights off his instinctual blush, squawking out, "River!"

 

But River is already laughing and pushing away from him and toward the podium. Gathering up her lecture notes while he fiddles with the sonic and tries to prove he's _not_ broken the sound system, to no avail. He reluctantly leaves it on some sort of 2280-era pop with the sound somehow even louder than before, after four increasingly failed attempts, and bounds over to River. He is suddenly quite eager to escape the lecture hall before someone comes along to investigate.

 

River digs her diary out of her briefcase and half turns toward him, just about to crack it open and just narrowly avoiding him skidding right into her in his haste. "Right, shall we do dia-"

 

The Doctor snatches the diary out of her hands and tucks it away in her briefcase again before she can get it open. He doesn't want to see it. Not right now. "I'm a bit farther along than you are this time, dear." He bops her on the nose with genuine affection and false joviality.

 

Seeing her diary has put the weight of the Library back between them, and he fights to stop it from showing. It's not been this hard in a long time, not since those first few times he saw her after the Library, when all he wanted was to run the other way - as if that could somehow save her.

 

River gives him a bit of an odd look, but accepts his strange behavior. There have been too many times in their long relationship where honesty has simply not been an option. A certain amount of selective ignorance is required. She doesn't ask him to elaborate.

 

But the Doctor hovers another minute, shifting awkwardly. "Actually, River. There's something I need to ask you."

 

River's eyebrow lifts, "If it's about New Mars, you can just keep it to yourself."

 

"Don't write this down." He blurts, hurrying on when she looks like she's about to reply, "No, no. Hear me out. I know it's breaking the rules. But they're my rules, and just this once - just this once, River, don't write this down." He's gripping her shoulders by the end, trying to pour every ounce of seriousness and sincerity he has into making her believe him without having to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long and was taking so long to fiddle with that I had to split it into two parts. The second part is mostly written, I swear! I promise that there's lots more River/Doctor interaction in the next part.


	3. Chaper 2: part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't write this down." He blurts, hurrying on when she looks like she's about to reply, "No, no. Hear me out. I know it's breaking the rules. But they're my rules, and just this once - just this once, River, don't write this down." He's gripping her shoulders by the end, trying to pour every ounce of seriousness and sincerity he has into making her believe him without having to explain.

River looks down at his hands and back up again, expression unreadable. "All right."

 

"I - What? - All right? That's it?" The Doctor blinks down at her, astonished. His arms drop helplessly to his sides.

 

He expected to have to convince her. He had a whole speech worked out in his head, for once, and it was even somewhat coming out like he'd intended.

 

River laughs. "Oh, my love. Your face-" She dissolves into mirth again.

 

The Doctor sulks. "I had a whole speech."

 

Taking a moment to compose herself, River twines his hands into her own, making him look up at her again. "Oh, I know."

 

She enjoys baffling him. He just knows it. "What? River - that wasn't the speech!"                        

 

River just smiles again, drawing him closer until their bodies are pressed together and he is quickly forgetting anything about speeches or diaries or - her mouth is at his ear. "Want to know a spoiler, Doctor?" River doesn't wait for his reply, continuing in a low voice, "This isn't the first time you've wandered into one of my classes."

 

The Doctor pulls back to look at her. Her eyes are dancing and mischievous. "I - oh. I've already asked you, haven't I?"

 

River nods, her eyes rather fixed on his bowtie, one of her hands idly stroking it while the other curves around the nape of his neck. "You were _very_ convincing."

 

The Doctor clears his throat. "Looking forward to it." It's hard to focus with her hands on him.

 

"Mmm," when River looks up, her eyes are dark, "you could always convince me again," she waits for his intake of breath, "just to be thorough."

 

When she looks at him like that - well - River certainly knows how to bring him to attention. Suddenly the only thing on his mind is that his wife is in front of him, waiting. And one should never keep River Song waiting.

 

With a growl, the Doctor presses forward, walking River backwards until her bum hits the podium and her eyes widen. He notes with satisfaction that the podium appears to be sturdy enough, pinning her against it with his body.

 

River pushes herself up on her tiptoes and tilts her neck to give him better access even as she mutters, "Here? Oh Doctor, am I rubbing off on you?"

 

The Doctor ignores her. He can hardly be expected to care about pesky details like where they are when River is canting her hips up against his as one of her legs snakes up his own, her heel digging in just slightly. Rubbing off on him, indeed.

 

The Doctor unceremoniously lifts River up and onto the podium. It's a little high, but it puts her glorious cleavage right at eye level, and he's hardly complaining about that. Neither is River, when he buries his face in her chest.

 

He nips and licks across the swell of her breasts, tasting her eagerly and leaving trails of marks that make her moan and arch up against him, her hands burying in his hair to tug him closer. His tongue delves into the tight crease between her breasts and traces the edges of the exposed flesh, delving under the edges of her top and tracing the barely-covered lace of her bra.

 

River's breasts - well, he knows she thinks he is far too obsessed with her hair, but that really doesn't even begin to compare with how he feels about her breasts. They are enticing and perfect and all pushed up eagerly by her tight bra and shirt, just begging for his attention. As amazing as they are like this, he'd really rather free them from their confines, and he tugs at her bra with his teeth, scraping them against her skin and making River gasp, but the fabric doesn't budge. Belatedly, he realizes that River's probably going to need a more modest blouse for her next class (which he is only a little smug about), and that she will probably smack him for it once she realizes.

 

Hoping to distract her, one of his hands snakes down toward her skirt, already halfway up her spread thighs, and pushes it up further, until his fingers can skate along the seam of her knickers. Without lifting his head from her breasts, the Doctor presses harder, his fingers rubbing firmly against the damp silk and lace and the little bundle of nerves encased behind it.

 

River keens and pushes him back with a gasp. Chest heaving, she eyes him speculatively before she shifts against the podium, spreading her legs wider and moving to start on the buttons of her blouse while her gaze burns into him.

 

Impatient, the Doctor bats her hands away with his own, soothing River's protest at the loss of contact by settling back between her thighs and spearing her with a look that makes her stop wriggling and recline back on the podium instead. As much as he loves it when River teases him, he doesn't want a show today - he just wants her. All of her. Right now.

 

He takes particular delight in popping the buttons of her shirt undone and exposing the rest of her golden skin to his hungry eyes. He wants to memorize her down to her individual cells. He bends his head to trace a path across her skin with his tongue, reveling in the taste of her. Sugar and spice and naughty and nice - he manages to muffle his giddy giggle against her hip. And time. The warm, rolling feel of it - not just clinging to her but a part of her. A heady golden swirl that rushes through him. River Song tastes of time itself.

 

"Sonic, sweetie."

 

River is breathless above him, and he doesn't pause in his ministrations as he fishes in his coat pocket with one hand and hands it over without a moment's hesitation. Whatever she wants it for, he trusts her. She can take care of the monster or the signal or the cabinets for all he cares - he's just a bit busy taking care of her.

 

River shuffles against him, sliding her blouse the rest of the way off, and arches deliciously as she aims the sonic over her head without looking. The music cuts off and, in the suddenly echoing amphitheater, the click of locks bolting is as startling as the podium suddenly lowering down to just the right height; River sliding down his body with it.

  
The Doctor reluctantly straightens and blinks at River, still dazed with the intoxication of having her in his arms.

 

"Spoilers!" Her voice is full of that same sinful anticipation as always.

 

Just hearing her say that word in that voice - just knowing that there are spoilers still - the Doctor hauls her flush against him and crushes her mouth to his. His tongue desperately seeking out the taste and sound and soul of River and _spoilers_. River moans and presses herself into him, and he knows that nothing - not even a horde of raging Sycorax or an entire Judoon platoon - could tear him away from River in this moment.

 

River's skirt is bunched up between them, and one hand draped around his neck is still clutching his sonic even as the other moves toward her waist to tug at her zip. Reluctantly, the Doctor reclaims his sonic, tucking it safely back into his pocket. His other hand still grips her hip as he steps back just enough for River to wriggle and slip the silky material of her skirt and knickers down her legs.

 

The Doctor is pressed back against her almost instantly, his hands moving restlessly along her body, indecisive in the face of so much skin. When his hands butt against her bra, he quickly comes to a decision, reaching around to unhook it and tugging until River lets him slide it down her arms and toss it away.

 

Not that River has been idle. Her legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, somehow under his coat, which she is busy trying to shove off his shoulders, though he can't bear to take his hands off her long enough to let her. He is a greedy, selfish old man, and River is being remarkably patient with him.

 

"Sweetie," there's an exasperated edge to River's voice, even as it wobbles slightly, "get your trousers off before I ruin them."

 

The Doctor hesitates, hands fluttering uselessly at River's hips as his mind spins a million ideas, even though he knows she's right and isn't entirely sure she's not ruined his trousers already. He can't stop touching her, though, now that she's here and in front of him. _River_. His exhalation is buried in the skin of her throat.

 

River heaves a sigh and pushes his arms back until she can shove off his coat with a satisfied humph and start on the fastenings to his trousers.

 

Her hands on him spur him into action, and the Doctor hastily works at his bowtie, leaving it dangling undone as he tugs impatiently at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. River's hands smooth over his own with a low chuckle, rescuing his bowtie to drape over her neck. "Eager, my love?"

 

"For you, River Song, always." The sight of his bowtie against her skin will always fill him with the same combination of raw emotion and lust, and he swallows it back by reclaiming her mouth.

 

He manages to keep the rest of him still long enough for River to finish undressing him, her hands running along newly revealed skin as she tugs off his shirt and pushes down his trousers and pants.

 

Then they are pressing eagerly against one another, the Doctor biting back a sharp wave of longing at how well they fit together. It has been so long without her that he had almost forgotten how empty he feels until she is pressed up against him.

 

He tears his mouth from hers and buries his face in her curls again, trembling against the tide of emotion. He presses kisses against her brow while his hands cradle her head, tangled up in that glorious hair that more than anything makes this feel real - nothing can ever compare to the pure, unrestrained chaos and beauty of River's hair. Oh, he's missed that - missed her - so much. River's hands stroke soothingly through his hair and along his back until he steadies. Then her small hands are wrapping around him, and he is trembling all over again.

 

River shifts her hips and guides him inside her, and the Doctor finds himself so enveloped in her that he can barely think for the feel of her. The hot swirl of time and River burning through him. For one aching moment, they are so perfectly tangled up in one another that the Doctor cannot tell where he ends and River begins. It is everything that always should be.

 

River's heels dig into him as she slowly rocks her hips, holding him tight against her, and the Doctor snaps back into himself. He follows her tender rhythm, his hands running along her back and sides and hips and everywhere he can reach without moving away from her. He can't keep his hands still, too busy remapping every last line and curve and dip of her body, all emblazoned behind his eyelids as if he could ever forget.

 

He reclaims River's mouth for a long and languid kiss, their tongues moving against one another as thoroughly and gently as their hips. He loses himself in the timelessness of being with River. Unhurried. One of his hands settles splayed across River's lower back, pressing her even closer.

 

River moans against his mouth and turns the kiss deeper, more demanding. She wiggles all those delightful curves against him and pulls her hips back faster. Suddenly the simmering heat in his body is anything but unhurried. He drives into her with renewed vigor and River hums appreciatively, her hands dropping to the edge of the podium to support their frantic movements.

 

As lovely of a view as it is, - his wife spread naked and bouncing before him - the Doctor wants nothing more than to keep her pressed as close to him as possible.

 

He curves his back to bend over her, keeping her close while he slides one arm under her bum and the other up toward her shoulder blades, supporting her as he lifts her bottom off the podium and drags her infinitesimally closer. River's hips keep time with his as one of her hands grips the ledge of the podium and the other comes up to wrap around his shoulders, bracing herself as they move.

 

The heat is building and their hips are rocking faster and it's still not enough. The Doctor fights a whinge building in the back of his throat. He presses their foreheads together, adding to the slick hot press of skin between them. "No, no. River. Hold onto me."

 

"Always." River promises - all breathless intensity.

 

He kisses her again, noses bumping as they shift, dragging her closer against him, and River is suddenly clinging to him completely, both her arms wrapped around his neck with the power of her belief that he won't let her fall.

 

Straightening, the Doctor spins them around until his back is resting against the podium and River is above him, surrounding him, skin glistening in the filtered light. He keeps a firm grip on her as they move, dragging her against him in quick, hard movements that drive him deeper, closer, as her fingers dig into his shoulders and she moves above him.

 

He can feel River's whole body quivering against him, all taut muscles and pounding hearts. The Doctor presses up hard in counterpoint to the drop of her body against his, muffling a startlingly possessive growl against her shoulder with a nip. River keens and shatters above him, slumping over him even as her hips still raise and fall against his, and he is smothered under the glorious weight and taste and scent of her.

 

The Doctor doesn't let her come down, equal parts desperate and desperate for this to never end. He just wants to see her again, all open and flushed and breathless under his gaze. Her body like living fire against his. He tightens his grip on her bum as his other hand begins running across her body - fingers skittering against all the hidden spots that make River shudder against him.

 

River is still fighting to catch her breath and failing, caught up in the aftershocks of her orgasm even as she raises herself up enough to meet his eyes. "God, sweetie, I-"

 

He cuts off her whimpered protest with his mouth, swallowing down her moans as he determinedly keeps her strung taut, pushing her higher as he thrusts hard against her, lifting her weight easily in counterpoint to his motions, and running his fingers across her sides and breasts and down between them to slip and press against her oversensitive clit with fast, hard motions.

 

River screams this time, pulling her mouth from his to gasp in breath as she comes undone around him, keeping up her rhythm even as she drops all her weight against him and calls out his name. She drops her forehead back to his and the sheer magnitude of emotion and ecstasy that magnifies and doubles and consumes him is enough to send the Doctor falling over the edge after her, River's name spilling from his lips as a benediction. All he can hear and see and feel and taste is River, surrounding him, part of him, and they are gasping and falling and mixing and even the swirl of color and light behind his eyelids cannot tell them apart. The Doctor keeps his eyes closed and absorbs River.

 

When the Doctor's eyes open again, River's hands are running soothingly across his brow and jaw and she is murmuring to him in soft Gallifreyan. Nonsensical words and whispers of love.

 

The Doctor blinks lazily and takes in their new position. Apparently, he'd fallen rather literally. They are splayed out on the floor, his back resting against the podium and River still draped across his lap. There is a muted, warm glow about them, centered around his hearts, and he blearily remembers that it might be contentment.

 

Loosening his death-grip from around River's hips, the Doctor rings his arms around River's waist and just enjoys holding her. He can already feel bruises forming all along his back and across his shoulders from her grip and he doesn't care in the slightest. He offers a wry, "Good job that you held on."

 

River laughs lightly and nips in for the briefest press of her lips against his, pulling back with twinkling eyes before he can reclaim her mouth properly. He's never going to get enough of her. Of this. River must be feeling the same soft contentment because she murmurs, "You always catch me," rather than teasing him mercilessly about managing to drop the both of them.

 

River rests her head against the Doctor's shoulder and they stay there, naked and hidden behind the podium, until their heartbeats return to normal and their sweat-slicked skin has dried except where they're still joined together. The sharp, aching urgency of before has properly faded - masked by a simmering heat that settles neatly in the Doctor's belly.

 

When his right leg nods off without the decency of taking the rest of him along with it, the Doctor shifts slightly, trying to wake it up again without disturbing River, and suddenly a whole flare of bruises and bumps race into his consciousness. He flinches and shifts again, but it doesn't help much. There is something digging into his left hip and his legs really aren't meant to be splayed like that and -

 

"Stop fidgeting, sweetie."

 

So much for not disturbing River. Her voice is half-asleep and muffled against his neck, and that's all very well and good, but his leg is entirely asleep and how is he supposed to _stop_ fidgeting, especially now that she's said something and - "Oi. You had a nice Doctor-shaped cushion to land on -" River snorts but he ignores her, "I'm the one who hit the hard and surprisingly bumpy floor."

 

"Yes, because nothing about you is hard or bony at all." River deadpans, reluctantly raising herself above him to fix him with an only-slightly-sleepy arched eyebrow.

 

He wants to be properly annoyed, but that eyebrow is just too adorable and River is still all soft curves shifting against him. Instead, he manages a low grumble, "I'll show you hard."

 

River just shakes her head at him and levers herself up and out of his reaching grasp, standing with a glorious full-bodied stretch that does absolutely nothing to make the Doctor less inclined to tug her back down into his lap, floor and whatever he's sitting on be damned. "Come on, sweetie." He doesn’t budge and River sighs, "Get your skinny arse up before someone notices the locked doors and summons the superintendent with the keycard." When that only makes him huff and glare for the skinny comment, River turns absently to track down her clothes and tosses over her shoulder, "Or did you fancy flashing my boss?"

 

Scrambling up on still sore and weak legs, the Doctor almost goes crashing back to the ground, his legs tangled up in his trousers and pants and, honestly, he'd rather forgotten they were caught round his ankles. The Doctor glares at River's swaying bum for all of a second - because he is sure she somehow planned that on purpose - before he finds himself grinning and shaking his head.

 

River disappears from his line of sight long enough for the Doctor to refasten his trousers, mournfully noting that they probably are ruined and he will either need River or his coat in front of him to make it to the TARDIS without embarrassment. The bumpy floor turns out, rather predictably, to be the majority of their clothing. He rescues his shirt from the pile and is just buttoning his waistcoat when River returns, hands on her hips and glaring. "I can't find my bra. Honestly, Doctor, they are not slingshots!"

 

The Doctor attempts a sheepish shrug, but he can hardly keep the smirk off his face when River is standing there in her heels and his bowtie, her shirt open and unbuttoned and not another stitch of clothing on.

 

He saunters forward to dare a quick kiss to her pursed lips as he steals back his bowtie, settling it around his own neck but leaving it undone as he scans the stage carefully. "I'll have a look then - can't have you in that shirt without a bra - positively indecent!"

 

River looks torn between laughing at him and continuing to glare, so he bops her on the nose for good measure and wanders off while she digs her skirt and knickers out from under his coat.

 

He eventually finds her bra dangling off one of the auditorium chairs, a trivial fact that he thinks River doesn't _really_ need to know, and returns triumphantly with his prize. A smile tugs at the corner of River's lips as she takes off her shirt long enough to slip it back on. The Doctor is just fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch and lamenting that River can't be naked all the time - why aren't they on the TARDIS right now? - when River presses up against him, her hands moving to tie his bowtie.

 

"I can tie it myself, you know." But his hands settle at her hips as he stretches his neck back to let her work.

 

He can hear River's smile in her voice, "Yes, well, my love - you also think you can fly the TARDIS."

 

The Doctor tries to pull back, insulted, but River has him by the neck as it were, so he settles for scowling at the ceiling - and what an interesting ceiling it is, he doesn’t know how he didn't notice the intricate intersection of Corinthian and Martian before. Well, he does know, but that's not the point. River can really be intolerably distracting. "You are not better than me at everything, River Song." It's hard to be properly disapproving when she's pressed up against him and he can't even waggle a finger at her.

 

With a last adjustment, River finishes with his bowtie and pats his cheek a bit condescendingly. "Of course I am. That's what wives are for." There's a smile tugging at her lips.

 

Whatever protest the Doctor wanted to make gets stuck on the roof of his mouth. River is looking down as she buttons her shirt and tucks it back into her skirt, so she thankfully misses his slightly wobbly smile. "Yes, I suppose they are."

 

"And it only took you hundreds of years to admit it! Getting sentimental in your old age, Doctor?" But her teasing is light-hearted, and the Doctor feels his hearts swell in response. He's even missed her mocking him.

 

He hastily collects his coat, buttoning it up for once and resolving to remind River that she's not the only one who loses clothing to their haste. Although, the mess she's made of his trousers seemed more deliberate than anything else. And she has the nerve to accuse him of misplacing her bras on purpose!

 

When he doesn't respond to her teasing, too busy ranting in his head, River moves to gather her bag. She glances about, hastily smoothing her blouse with her free hand. Admittedly, they probably really should be going. There's no angry pounding against the door - yet - but the Doctor knows they're pushing it.

 

So he simply rolls his eyes and steals her bag to shoulder himself. Pecking a brief kiss against the corner of her mouth as she frowns because he cannot resist, he offers her his arm. "Shall we?" Maybe he is feeling just a bit sentimental and doting.

 

With a mock huff, River straightens his bowtie one last time before looping her arm through his. "Well, we're as presentable as we're about to get. Especially if you keep looking at me like that, my love."

 

Together they open the staff entrance and breathe out a joint sigh of relief when there are no cross administrators on the other side. They're just slipping through when the Doctor remembers something else that has been niggling at the back of his mind, "Wait - River - what else haven't you written down?"

 

River just tightens her grip on his arm. "Spoilers!"

 

He wonders how he ever found that word to be annoying. Right now he would be content to listen to her say it forever. He knows he should probably be cross; instead he just finds himself looking wistfully forward to these future adventures in a way he's not properly in ages.

 

They stroll down the hallway, arm in arm, and make it out into the campus grounds - miraculously without incident. The few students and staff still on campus don't spare the happy couple more than a casual glance. Which is more than the Doctor has for them - he's too busy trying to stare at River and manage not to bump into anything at the same time.

 

Luna University is bathed in dome-diluted earthlight, which tints the treeborgs an even more brilliant green and makes it hard for the assorted students to remember the barren gray tundra beneath the artificial bubble of civilization. But the Doctor can see the juxtaposition, and he immediately wonders if it ever bothers River. If she can see this timey-wimey bit of land the way he can. If, maybe, that's why she likes it.

 

The Doctor muses aloud, "The treeborgs seem to enjoy the earthlight even more than sunlight or those brilliant little forty-fourth century true-lights. It must be easier on their processors, though, the earthlight. Maybe they recognize their ancestral trees through the refraction."

 

River favors him with the soft melody of her laughter, pressing her head against his shoulder and suddenly his whole body is warm and swimming with her. "How long can you stay this time?"

 

She's clutching him closer, her hands all tangled in the fabric of his coat, even as she leans back again and starts to pull away, to withdraw. The sight sets his hearts on edge. "Actually," he hurriedly pulls her back into his arms, burying his face in her hair to muffle the catch in his voice, "I was rather hoping to stay a while."

 

This time, when River pulls back to search his face, her eyes light up like starfire. She opens her mouth and then shakes her head, sending all those glorious curls flying and flaming away. Instead she hauls him down by his lapels, smothering the words between them with a kiss that is as burning as the rest of her.

 

When they pull back for breath, the Doctor finds himself unable (or just very, very unwilling) to straighten up and risk leaving her personal space. He presses chaste kisses to River's lips and keeps her tucked into him, their hair shielding them from prying eyes. He punctuates his words with more kisses against River's smiling lips. "Is. That. A. Yes?"

 

It's their own private mini universe where all he can see and feel is her: the earthlight filtering through her hair like the flame of a proper sun. He is nothing but a hopeless old fool and he never wants to move again. River indulges him for a moment, bringing her hands up to his face and guiding him back to the waiting warmth of her lips.

 

When she eventually pulls back, lest they be caught in what will certainly soon become quite a bit more than just a public snog (not that it's ever stopped them in the past, if the number of times they've been handcuffed for public indecency is anything to go by), her eyes are sparking with a more familiar mischievousness. "I don't know... Having a proper stay-at-home husband? Whatever would I do with you, sweetie?"

 

"I'm sure you would come up with something." His voice is lower than he expects for just a moment, and then the rest of her teasing catches up to him. "And oi! Who said I would just stay at home?"

 

"I might have some ideas. You'll have to convince me."

 

"Oh, I can be very convincing, Professor Song."

 

"Will it involve handcuffs?"

 

"You and handcuffs!"

 

But they're both laughing, meandering arm and arm across the overlay of greenery sprawling the campus, suddenly brilliant in the earthlight.

 

...


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her bedroom is a perfect replica of their room in the TARDIS. The one he still can't bring himself to go into - not that he sleeps without her anyway. The sight of it leaves him stumbling and grasping at the door jamb for support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Megs for all her thoughts and help and support!!

The door to River's house is TARDIS blue. It is a painfully perfect recreation of the one on the house they picked out for Amy and Rory, once upon a time. So long ago now. He's only seen this particular door once before, in River's future. He'd stared at it for as long as he dared before knocking, whisking River away on as many madcap adventures as he could even slightly justify before they headed to Darillium.

 

He finds himself frozen by the memory, even though he knows that River is just behind him, just in the TARDIS. He's afraid to turn around in case the vision he conjures of her is just that - just another ghost plaguing him.

 

And then River's hand is slipping into his as she tugs him along with her. The Doctor hardly has time to pull himself together again before she is opening her door with a scarily familiar snap and winking at him as she drags him over the threshold.

 

It strikes him suddenly that he should be carrying her across the threshold. He should have been here when she bought this house. Where was he? How long has he been gone? Running away from _Professor_ River Song when he should have been running toward her?

 

He glances around, attempting to smother the guilt before River catches it on him and undeniably curious about her life away from the TARDIS ( _without him_ ).

 

Mercifully, there is plenty to be distracted by in his first proper visit to her lunar home. River laughs as he darts about, picking up and discarding various curiosities and bits and bobs and doodads from River's life. In his excitement, he probably isn't as careful as he should be - it's just that his mind is too busy racing about to figure each item out and on to the next that his hands are always carelessly scrambling to keep up.

 

Luckily, River seems to manage far better, staying right behind him, either catching various objects or snatching them away before he can dismantle them with short explanations. _Lyra 5. The dig on Zebraxes. That was from the royal collection and Liz X sends her love._

 

Finally, she gives up. Snatching back a diamond the size of his fist that reflects a strange spectrum in the artificial light - and really, she has it just lying around? - and forcefully pushing him to sit on her couch. "Sit, sweetie." She sounds mostly exasperated but also just a bit amused and he's not above banking off that.

 

Twisting about, he reads her bookshelves sideways and investigates the contents of her end tables, while River rolls her eyes and presumably heads to the open kitchen, muttering about tea.

 

Keeping one eye on her back, the Doctor continues to try to piece together River through the contents of her home. In all these years - decades, centuries, _not enough time_ \- he's yet to truly figure out the wonder and mystery of River Song. He thinks that even with millennia together, she'd still surprise him.

 

His throat chokes up suspiciously - oh, how he wants those millennia. With River Song, forever doesn't seem quite so long and daunting.

 

So he explores what he can, hungry for new details to file away about his wife - and for just the most miniscule of seconds - hardly even a second, really - he understands the appeal of archaeology. Horrified, the Doctor glances back toward River - in case she somehow _knows_ \- and hurriedly snatches up the next item his scrambling hands meet. "A pterodactyl egg, River?"

 

"It's perfectly safe, sweetie, unless it gets too warm." She turns to aim a pointed look over her shoulder and the Doctor quickly sets the egg back down and mutters, "You and Jack and pterodactyls. Really."

 

"Ooh, does Jack fancy one?" River sets a mug of tea in front of the Doctor and tucks herself onto the couch next to him. "Maybe I'll give it to him as a gift, next time we're in the same decade."

 

The Doctor opens his mouth to protest, debates whether or not this is how Jack already acquired said anachronistic bird, and snaps his mouth shut again. He offers as bland a smile as he can, and River's eyes light up. "Shall I warn him about heating it?"

 

The Doctor wraps one arm around River's shoulders and tugs her closer, his other hand snaking around to steal her mug of tea for a gulp. "You know how Jack loves surprises."

 

River slaps him lightly on the arm, "Doctor!" And steals her tea back, replacing it with his mug. "Really, you're getting as bad as I am in your old age."

 

The Doctor just smiles fondly, "Mmm - you wouldn't have it any other way, River Song."

 

River tilts her head up at him questioningly, but the Doctor just kisses the top of her head and sips his tea - enjoying the sweet rush of sugar. "Now, what is on the agenda for tonight, wife? Dashing the hopes and dreams of countless children by marking up their papers over pesky details like grammar? Robbing some unsuspecting gallery of a priceless alien artifact? Running from angry recently awakened locals on far away planets?"

 

At the mention of running, his hand seeks out hers instinctively. River Song and the Doctor: lounging on the couch, drinking tea and holding hands. The Doctor imagines that some universe with flying swine has just popped into existence at the mere suggestion. He wonders if he could convince the TARDIS to take them there sometime.

 

River laughs, raising her head off his shoulder, "They're university students, sweetie, not children."

 

He bops her on the nose because he can't resist, "Same thing," but he quickly recaptures her hand in his, turning back to sip at his tea as though the motion was unconscious.

 

River gives him an odd look but, after a moment and to his immense relief, River's brow unfurls, her hand relaxing in his loose grip. "You're just cross because your grammar is atrocious - all run-ons and fragments - especially in Gallifreyan."

 

The Doctor scowls even though she's right - he actually had to learn those rules, unlike a certain someone, and there have always been so many more exciting things to do and see and try rather than conjugating in all twenty-five present tenses. He readily admits that one present tense isn't enough. But twenty-five? Something is inevitably lost in the search for unambiguous conjugations.

 

River continues over his mental rant, sounding somehow teasing and nervous at the same time. "But I'm afraid you'll be rather disappointed. All I'd planned for tonight was a bottle of wine and old vids."

 

"You could never disappoint me, River." His voice is soft and serious. Laced with all the words he doesn't say. Laced with memories of their wedding and all the words he wishes he could have swallowed back the second they left his tongue. He swallows instinctively, even though it's far too late for that. "No matter what I may say. Who listens to me, anyway? Don't listen to me. Rule one."

 

But River's brow is crinkling again, one of her hands reaching out to soothe him. He claps his hands and leaps up, physically distancing himself from those melancholy thoughts. "Right. Vids."

 

In truth, he's a bit relieved. He's far from certain he'd be up to running with her just yet. He wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off her and he'd be too distracted - too terrified of accidentally letting go - to be any good for anything at all.

 

...

 

They watch an old sci-fi-horror flick with just enough audacious inanity that it almost could be real. The Doctor immediately thinks of twelve ways that he could have saved them all, including the monsters, while River comes up with increasingly creative - and violent - solutions for the dwindling number of survivors to try.

 

They spend the film laughing and bickering: getting so caught up in debates over the exact air constitution of the fictional planet - given its defining film characteristics - or whether or not the aliens could move that way anatomically - that they miss half of the "plot" or whatever passes for it.

 

The Doctor loses his jacket almost immediately, his shirtsleeves rolled up and arms spread out across the back of the couch, one of them neatly tucked around River. For her part, River manages to change into a more comfortable (and far more revealing) nightgown when she goes to fetch herself wine, before curling up against the Doctor with a smirk as she plays with his pocket watch and bowtie. They forget about the film entirely for a while.

 

Despite an occasional lack of attention, they manage to come up with thirty-seven solutions that would have saved the film before its ending, though neither of them actually guesses correctly. The Doctor pouts openly that River managed to think up one more brilliantly madcap plan than he did, mind whirling along to think of #38, but he really can't deny how much he loves her brilliance.

 

The actual solution in the film is so convoluted and nonsensical -violating at least five laws of physics and two different gravities - that River and the Doctor immediately agree it never would've worked.

 

Still, the Doctor can't seem stop himself from exclaiming, one more time, "That ending was complete rubbish. It made no sense at all!"

 

He leaps up in his agitation to pace and gesture toward the telly, trying to express exactly how little sense the vid made. Sheepishly, he belatedly realizes that he must have jostled River rather a lot when he jumped up, since until a few seconds ago she was comfortably draped over him.

 

But River just joins him with a bone-cracking stretch that is far too distracting - her nightgown taut against her curves and riding up along her thighs - as she uncurls form the couch, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I know. The 23rd century is so behind the times."

 

She's laughing at him. The Doctor means to retort, but River is already reaching up to undo his bowtie and waistcoat. He can't remember why he bothered to get dressed again at all. Seems quite silly, at the moment. Clothes. Perfectly pointless.

 

The Doctor follows the motions of her hands - hopelessly in her thrall. And, ridiculously, somehow nervous. His wife has an unparalleled ability to put him on edge. He suspects she likes it. "Yes, well," he's forgotten what they were talking about.

 

River comes to his rescue, leaving his clothing undone as she takes his hand and he is helpless to do anything but follow. "Bed."

 

The Doctor nods even though River isn't looking. Swallows. "Bed. Right."

 

She leads him through the house by the hand, tugging firmly when he starts to veer off to investigate some of the intriguing items lining her tables and shelves. His mind is giddy and languid at the same time. Racing, but all his thoughts keep coming back to River. Here. Now.

 

Is this what it would have been like? His life with River in order? Vids and languor and no running at all? Going to bed at regular intervals; reasonable times? Shockingly, he feels a dull sort of longing at the notion. Such domesticity normally stifles him under the weight of boredom. But with River, he's never bored. He thinks he could have tried this. With River. With a renewed determination, he thinks that this time - for these stolen moments - he will.

 

Her bedroom is a perfect replica of their room in the TARDIS. The one he still can't bring himself to go into - not that he sleeps without her anyway. The sight of it leaves him stumbling and grasping at the door jamb for support.

 

Thankfully, River has hurried ahead of him to hastily gather up the various papers and journals and books strewn across the bed, tables, dresser - any horizontal surface, really. The sight of her tidying away the everyday knick-knacks of her day-to-day life ( _without him_ ) breaks his hearts all over again.

 

While River is occupied with clearing off their - _her_ \- bed, all the Doctor can think is how much he has missed her journals crowding their bedroom on the TARDIS. How much he has missed their bedroom. How much he has missed _her_.

 

He used to tease her that she was clearly trying to fit the whole TARDIS library into their room, and that she might as well add the pool and be done with it.

  
The memory is enough to steady his shaky legs and hearts. He slips behind her, wrapping his arms around River's waist and hauling her back into him. Murmuring low into the mass of curls near her left ear, "No pool?"

 

River laughs, "Because books and water mix so well, sweetie," and doesn't put up much of a protest when he gently takes the papers from her hands and tosses them haphazardly off to the floor somewhere behind him. River leans back into him, and they sway there for a long moment.

 

Finally, River twists out of his grasp and moves to sit on the bed, her hand still laced with his. The Doctor falls back onto the bed, bouncing both of them with his weight and delighting at how much it even _feels_ like their bed. If he closes his eyes and forgets that the spinning under him is the moon moving about the earth rather than the TARDIS moving about the vortex, he can almost imagine that they are in their bedroom. That this is just one in a long line of nights stretching across the centuries.

 

"Are you tired, Doctor?" River's voice is soft and curious behind his eyelids, a bloom of rich color.

 

"Oh, River. I am so tired." And he lets the true emotion of it bleed into his voice, for once. He is so tired. He doesn't sleep. Without her, he feels like he's not slept in decades. But it's more than that. He's tired of soldiering on and laughing at the darkness. He's tired of the weight of centuries piling on top of him like rocks in an avalanche that keeps on falling.

 

And River must hear the emotion in his voice for what it is because she curls around him, her fingers idly stroking across his chest, "Then go to sleep, my love."

 

But he immediately throws his eyes open. Tightening his arms around his wife and trying valiantly not to give into the sluggish relaxation that is trying to claim him. He really shouldn't be so nervous. But he half expects to wake up and find out he's dreamt it all. Except his dreams are never this pleasant.

 

River just makes a noise of contentment against the material of his shirt, holding him just as tightly as he clutches her. She knows without him having to say. All about the darkness and the nightmares and how sleep can be anything but refreshing. She has her own demons to battle in the dark. Her grip is firm and reassuring, and the Doctor tries to make himself believe that she is truly, properly real. She's not going to disappear into mist in the night.

 

"Doctor?"

 

"Hmm?" Their heartbeats and the rise and fall of their chests are in sync and he can almost feel that elusive sense of peace.

 

"At least take off your boots." River's voice is sleepy and teasing and the Doctor finds himself suddenly completely at ease.

 

He wiggles out of her grasp to untie his shoelaces and toe off his boots. He looks down at River's form, already soft with the half-glow of sleep. He manages to slip off his waistcoat and carefully places his watch, pocket watch and bowtie onto the nightstand. He curls back around River, on top of the sheets and comforter, dragging a jaunty star-patterned quilt up to cover them instead. "Goodnight, dear."

 

River catches his lips for a soft kiss, eyes still closed. "Night, sweetie."

 

Twined together amongst the stars, they finally drift off to sleep. Arms wrapped securely around one another to ward off the dark.

 

...

 

In the muted earthlight, they lie in the replica of their bed, curled around each other and drifting, floating as though they are in the vortex. In his long life, the Doctor has never felt more and less grounded at exactly the same time. River grounds him. He never thought he would have this again. Ever. And now he doesn't know how he survived without it. Without River Song wrapped up in his arms. Tears prickle at his eyes and he fights them back, pressing a kisses to the top of River's head through her curls and tucking her closer to him. They have lost the quilt and their clothes, but they finally made it under the sheets sometime early in the morning.

 

"Are you really staying?" Her voice is a soft question against his clavicle, one of her hands gripping his tightly.

 

The Doctor squeezes back just as hard, trying to reassure her in every way he can. For her and for him and for all the times they couldn’t stay. "What? What kind of question is that? Of course I am!" He keeps his voice carefully light and challenging, "I said so, didn't I?"

 

After a moment, River props herself up on his chest, regarding him with a sly smile and reassuringly smug voice, "But what are you going to do with yourself, my love?"

 

"Oh, you know. This and that. Putter about the house. Whisk you away in the TARDIS. Sit in on your lectures."

 

"I thought you hated archaeology?"

 

"Oh, I don't know," he hedges, fidgeting, not quite able to stop the grimace that just the word always brings to his mouth, "it could be worse, I suppose."

 

River simply lifts an eyebrow in disbelief.

 

The Doctor shrugs. "What? I've a bit of a thing for the professor."

 

River laughs at him openly, "A 'thing'? Is that what the cool kids are calling it nowadays, my love?"

 

The Doctor bops her nose, trying for stern but somehow fidgeting in the face of her raised eyebrow and completely unshakable ability to mock him relentlessly, "Oi. You. Not another word."

 

River just shakes her head at him fondly before teasing, "Should I be worried?"

 

"You, River Song, have nothing to worry about." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her soundly. "Ever."

 

...

 

They stay in bed well past any reasonable solar hour. It's not unusual - they often lose hours and even days in the TARDIS to proper reunions when they have the luxury. Times filled with low murmurs and gasping exclamations and absolutely no running at all. Times where they cling to one another and pretend that it is more than once in a thousand blue moons that they find themselves curled around one another, free-floating in the vortex without the omniscient ticking clock counting down their seconds together as soon as they meet.

 

And though the Doctor can feel the low pull and tide of time here, on a lazy moon orbiting one of his absolute favorite planets, he pushes that aside and listens to the pull of River instead. The sound beat of her hearts and the glowing hum of her mind.

 

"I'll miss my lecture." River is tracing lazy looping Gallifreyan across his chest, following the patterns of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains.

 

"So miss it." One of his hands captures hers and brings up for a soft kiss against her knuckles.

 

He loves her hands. How they manage to be so soft and powerful at the same time. Small against his own, though he knows first-hand that they are strong enough to near break his jaw. Admittedly, he'd really deserved that slap. He can't help but chuckle at the memory, juxtaposed against her soft skin and the lazy morning.

 

"Sweetie." River sighs affectionately, tugging her hand away from him.

 

"We'll use the TARDIS." He shrugs, unapologetic as he runs his fingers down her sides.

 

River rolls her eyes and shifts toward the edge of the bed. "I'm getting up."

 

She sits up before he manages to catch her in his arms. Circling them firmly around her and tugging her back down to him. "Don't want to let you go." Perhaps it comes out a bit petulant, but it is also unequivocally the truth.

 

River tilts her head with just the edge of vexation that she always gets when she can't decide if he's being ridiculous or sweet. "Well then come with me."

 

"All right." And he bounds up, already thinking about breakfast and wondering if she has any Jovian orange juice. He has a brilliant recipe that he's been meaning to try.

 

But River is still propped up on the bed, blinking at him. Exasperated and amused. One of his favorite combinations. "Wait. What?" He finds his discarded trousers and manages to get them on without even almost falling over, "You're serious?"

 

"Were you not?" He spots his shirt and waistcoat out of the corner of his eye and is just reaching out to rescue his bowtie and watches from the nightstand when River's hand closes over his, stilling him.

 

When he looks up, River is giving him a delightfully suspicious and confused look. After a moment of searching, she sighs, resigned, "We need to shower before we get dressed." She eyes him, "Quickly."

 

"Yes, dear." He abandons the search for his clothes in favor of dutifully following her enticing backside toward the bath.

  
The shower is anything but quick.

 

He does discover, much later and to his delight, that not only is her closet bigger on the inside, but his clothing is interspersed with hers. He hastily picks out a new outfit before River comes to investigate what is taking so long and finds him reduced to tears over a wardrobe.

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 6/23/13 to add a new scene to this chapter and close it off. Sorry - wasn't happy with where the break was. And sorry for the waits - the end of semester rather disrupted my writing mojo.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hovers behind River while she sets up her lecture notes and calls up artifacts from the digital archives to be displayed. He can't help crowding her, breathing in the perfume of her shampoo on her hair and reaching around her to make adjustments to the images because really, River, it's far more accurate this way. River bats at his wandering hands on the podium, though she doesn't seem to mind when his hands wander over her, and she leans back into his loose embrace. It feels like piloting the TARDIS together, in a strange sort of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Megs for being my savior with a last-minute beta! Happy (slightly belated) River and the Doctor Appreciation Day!!!
> 
> P.S. This chapter is basically fluffy smut. So. Here! *runs away*

He hovers behind River while she sets up her lecture notes and calls up artifacts from the digital archives to be displayed. He can't help crowding her, breathing in the perfume of her shampoo on her hair and reaching around her to make adjustments to the images _because really, River, it's far more accurate this way_. River bats at his wandering hands on the podium, though she doesn't seem to mind when his hands wander over her, and she leans back into his loose embrace. It feels like piloting the TARDIS together, in a strange sort of way.

 

They are still huddled together over the podium, debating the ridges on σ-975, when the students begin to file into the classroom. Their initial loud chatter gives way to the same stunned murmuring as yesterday. The Doctor ignores them as long as possible until the lecture starts and River shoos him off the stage with a quick kiss to the cheek and a rather firm shove.

 

Amused, the Doctor makes his way toward the front row and claims the middle seat again, wiggling in between the already seated students eyeing him expectantly, with what he rather fears is an entirely self-satisfied grin. River is a terrible influence on him. Not that he can really bring himself to be angry with her when she is right in front of him and so very alive. The memories of just how alive under his hands are fresh and perhaps entirely inappropriate when he is surrounded by children. The Doctor shifts awkwardly and River graces him with a far too knowing look. Though it's entirely her fault anyway - how is he supposed to focus on her lecture when he knows for a fact that River is not wearing any knickers?

 

Despite his best efforts to pay attention and focus on archaeology, it's, well, _archaeology_ , and his wife is his wife, and the Doctor finds his mind wandering more often than not from the 25th century to the 51st. Specifically the last twenty-four hours, thirty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds, and ticking. It's not often that the Doctor finds himself linear for so long without something to occupy him. But just having these moments, just being with River, is more than enough. He's determined not to take this time for granted.

 

Between memories of River past and present and the intoxicating distraction of watching her lecture - calm and perfectly in command but with an openness that is lacking when she leads armies and mercenaries alike to battle - the Doctor actually manages to keep the part of his mind occupied with cross-referencing her lecture notes quiet. Though he files away a few choice comments for later. River always appreciates his suggestions better when they are alone. Well, when they are in bed. Well, if he distracts her. Sometimes.

 

Sprawled out in his seat, grinning at Professor Song, the Doctor thinks he has behaved himself admirably. When the lecture ends, he jerks up with a start, limbs flailing. Only River can ever make him lose track of time.

 

He waits though. Sprawling back across his seat, ankles crossed over the rail. River is answering questions, the same as yesterday, and he forces himself to sit instead of rushing over to her, savoring the lackadaisical crawl of time as he watches her. The slow build of anticipation spreading through him. River is the one who is distracted, her eyes lingering over him so often that several of the students follow her gaze, shy and uncertain and curious.

 

This time, the Doctor is certain of the lazy smirk on his face. Mainly by the way River keeps licking her lips and half turning toward him. Like two galaxies, circling one another - drawn inexorably closer by the pull of twin gravities. Magnetic. Absently, the Doctor calculates the gravity on Jovia and muses on whether or not River would be a spiral galaxy.

 

As soon as the door has closed behind the last student, with a distinct thud in the suddenly silent room, the River's eyes meet the Doctor's. The air crackles.

 

The Doctor holds his wife's smoldering gaze, still reclined with his hands laced behind his head, even though every cell in his body is suddenly strung taut. His voice comes out low, "And did my behavior meet with the Professor's approval?"

 

River moves sinuously across the stage, a slow and entirely calculated slink that has the Doctor tracking the curves of her body. "A for effort."

 

The Doctor preens just a bit, though he'll deny it if River asks, feeling awfully chuffed.

 

She reaches the railing, her hands griping tightly on either side of his crossed feet. River leans forward until her breasts are just brushing his legs. "And here I had worried that you'd deserve a proper spanking." Her voice has dropped as well, into that throaty purr that does _things_ to him.

 

River's eyes are dark. The Doctor gulps, not so casual anymore. "Save that for next time."

 

"Oh, I will."

 

The promise in River's voice is intoxicating. The Doctor straightens his bowtie to keep his hands distracted from reaching out to her. "So what do I get instead, Professor?"

 

One of River's eyebrows arches. "Who says you get anything?"

 

She is still the stern professor, playing along, with just a hint of teasing underneath. The Doctor squirms. He loves everything about River, but they both know he loves her best when she's naughty. He drops his feet with a thud and leans forward, his nose inches from River's. "But I've been so very good." He grins, bouncing back in his seat, "And good boys deserve a treat."

 

"Oh, so you're a boy now?" River's eyes are sparkling mischievously.

 

The Doctor clasps his hands over his legs, a one-hearted attempt to keep them still. "Depends what you'll give me." There's no stopping the grin that accompanies those words.

 

River crosses her arms under her cleavage and leans across the railing until his traitorous eyes refuse to look anywhere else. Her voice is considering. "I'm afraid I had rather adult ideas in mind."

 

"What a coincidence, Professor Song." He leaves the thought unfinished, but he is drawn back toward her, standing quickly and rocking forward into her space.

 

They are nose to nose again, just their quickening breaths between them. River's lips are slightly open, begging to be kissed, and the Doctor can feel his resistance melting. As much as he loves this game...

 

River pulls back abruptly, visibly catching her breath, her hand trailing along the railing as she moves toward the stairs. "Come with me then. For your _reward_ for good behavior."

 

"Where are we going?" He follows her anyway, hovering just short of touching her everywhere.

 

"Office." River is always brisk when she's in a rush to get their kit off, or when she thinks he's being particularly dense. Those two scenarios overlap to a truly frightening degree.

 

But the Doctor stops anyway and grins, delighted. "You have an office?"

 

River rolls her eyes, a fond smile tugging at her mouth. "Of course."

 

The Doctor steals River's bag from her shoulder and grabs her hand, pulling her along the corridors, half glancing at signs and half at her. It doesn't matter that he hasn't a clue where her office is.

 

River catches him up quickly, pushing him down a corridor before moving ahead of him, "Left, Doctor."

 

River always gets them where they are going.

 

...

 

As soon as the office door closes, the Doctor finds himself pressed against it. "Here?" He squeaks, startled, "River!"

 

Admittedly, he'd rather hoped this was the direction the afternoon was going, but he'd not exactly expected to be up against the door. Although, in retrospect, they often find themselves against doors. The TARDIS doors. Phone booth doors. Restaurant doors. Restroom doors. One of the Doctor's hands comes up to tug at his collar. Right. Well. Perhaps they do have a bit of a history with doors. It's just hard to keep his hands and eyes off his wife long enough to get anywhere else. Honestly, he generally considers it a minor miracle if he's managed to get them behind the door, although River quite likes their collection of public indecency arrest warrants. The Doctor can't pretend to claim he really minds them either.

 

"It's office hours." River bats at the Doctor's hand and undoes his bowtie while she speaks, cheeky, "I'm supposed to speak with students about their performance," one of her hands grips him rather pointedly and he can't be faulted for the sound he makes when she puts her hands on him, "in my course."

 

River's hand is gone just as quickly as it appeared and the Doctor presses his head back against the door. "Oh my bad, bad girl."

 

"Hush. I'm evaluating you." River's voice is pure sex now, her words nothing but innuendos. Yes. He likes this game very much indeed. "I think your learning style is more hands-on." River drags his hands to her hips to illustrate, a positively wicked grin dancing at her lips. "And this is a pop quiz."

 

"Careful, Professor," his enjoys the way she shivers slightly against him when he says her title, his voice rough, "I perform best under pressure."

 

River's hand presses against his trousers again, her pupils blown, "I was rather hoping you would rise to the occasion."

 

The Doctor shakes his head, fighting against a fond smile. Really, and River complains about his puns? She is positively terrible. And he can't resist snogging her a single millisecond longer. River melts against his mouth and he loves her beyond all reason - fiercely, protectively.

 

When they pull back to breathe, his hand runs down her thighs to slip under her skirt and slide through the slick wet heat of her. River widens her stance appreciatively, a soft groan escaping her lips.

 

The Doctor bites back his own groan at the feel of her, so wet and wanting already. River is insatiable. He smirks at her, "You should know by now dear, I always ace oral exams."

 

He slides to the floor, hitches up her skirt and buries his face in her glorious heat before she can reprimand him for the pun.

 

River's laugh strangles into a half moan, and the Doctor grins from between her thighs. That is probably one of his top hundred favorite sounds from River's lips. It is hard to decide. There are always so many to choose from, especially when he is distracted by the heat and taste and feel of her around him, and she's making those soft keening noises that slip out when she is trying not to scream.

 

And oh, River's a screamer.

 

As much as he loves making River scream, he always keeps a rotating list of at least eleven of these little strangled sounds. A list he gladly abandons in favor of making her whimper and keen again when River digs her hands into his hair and tugs him so tight against her sex that he wonders if his respiratory bypass will kick in. Handy trick, that, for when he can't tear his lips away from whichever bit of his wife he happens to be _kissing_.

 

He can never pin down the taste of her. It is always different. The pop of the vortex, the silky strands of time, the sharp spice of mystery; impossibly, the fiery grass of Gallifrey.

 

She tastes like home.

 

And right at this moment, she still tastes vaguely of him. He can taste himself all over her, even at her core, and he reflects that this is how it should always be. The two of them melded and melting together until the taste of her skin will always carry tines of both of them.

 

He could happily spend the rest of his days and nights and eternities between River's thighs. His Amazon goddess, towering and shuddering above him; his glorious wife.

 

And he must be mumbling half of that against her skin - or else he's just seared the thought into her with the force of how much he feels in moments like these - because River whimpers, "Oh god, sweetie," and shudders against his questing tongue with a barely muffled curse.

 

He wants to devour her whole. He grabs River's hips and steers her around until she is the one pressed against the door. The Doctor's left hand slides down to River's thigh, pushing until she opens further to him and he pulls back, his lips and tongue just dancing at her entrance. His right hand is still spayed across her hip as his fingers meander toward her clit. He will never tire of strumming her body taut. River's hands tighten in his hair to the point of pain with the effort of not begging him or dragging him where she needs him.

 

While the sharp thrill of danger that comes with teasing River Song is always delicious, the Doctor has no desire to see anger flash in those sea-green eyes ever again. Besides, he has plans for his reward. His fingers find her clit and press down sharply, his tongue thrusting and swirling as he tastes galaxies in River's skin.

 

River falls apart with a muffled cry, her legs shaking with her pleasure.

 

The Doctor keeps her balance. Reluctantly pulling back from over-sensitive skin and watching her eyelids flutter instead.

 

"Full marks." River's voice is still shaky.

 

He shrugs, distracted by the smooth skin of her thighs, fluttering under his touch. "I put my all into the exam."

 

"You can put your all into me."

 

His eyes dart up to find River's still lust-blown but with a glinting edge. Before he can do much more than stare, River is tugging on his lapels, dragging him up from where he reclines on the floor between her legs for a sloppy kiss.

 

The Doctor is just relaxing into the press of her curves and hot meld of their mouths, River's eagerly licking and sucking her flavor off his tongue, when she spins him abruptly toward the center of the disproportionately large room.

 

"You were writing Gallifreyan _inside of me_!" She accuses, though it is husky, laced with post-orgasmic bliss.

 

"Was I?" The Doctor smirks, bopping River's disbelieving nose. "You liked it."

 

Her eyes soften at the tap of his finger, but then they flash something that promises glorious retribution. The Doctor swallows hard, hands tracing along the edges of River's skirt where it bunches across her bare hips. When River prowls forward, he stumbles willingly in front of her until the backs of his legs hit something decidedly solid.

 

A glance over his shoulder confirms it - River has backed him up against the large desk dominating the office, pinning him between it and her. He scoots back on it and drags her with him eagerly. River nips at his lips and climbs onto his lap, grinding against him. "Mmm. I've always wanted to bend you over a desk."

 

"Really, have we not," he manages - voice strangled as River draws back and shucks off his boots and trousers with military efficiency. "Technically, I think that-"

 

River cuts him off neatly by sliding sinuously to her knees, "Sweetie," she takes him in hand and he manages to grunt something that might've been a question, "watch the door." Her eyes sparkle wickedly as she swallows him down.

 

The Doctor chokes and tries not to buck into her mouth. The look in her eyes and her wet mouth on his cock are derailing all his higher order cognitive processes. "The... door... what? What about the door? Is the door not locked? River!"

 

Rather unfortunately, though not without precedent, he soon forgets about the door all together. Hands tangled in River's hair as she wraps her tongue around him, her head bobbing over his lap in a mass of curls and smoldering eyes as she sucks and swallows him.

 

River's had a long time to learn this body, and her tongue wraps around him in the most erotic ways, winding him up and setting the low burning in his stomach aflame.

 

The Doctor grips the desk edge frantically, his eyes locked on the slide of River's lips up and down his shaft, his whole body tightening with a pleasurable quiver.

 

A low sound wrenches its way out of his throat, and River stills, pulling back to lick at her lips and his cock in slow, teasing strokes that leave him just teetering on the edge.

 

His fingers dig into the wood. River hums, her tongue tracing under the head of his cock with deliberately wide, casual strokes.

 

"River."

 

Her name is more of a plea, and it is enough for her to take him in fully again, setting up a steep rhythm that quickly has him sliding one of his hands to her hair with a moan.

 

This time, when she pulls back, the Doctor can't help his groan of frustration. "You drive me crazy, River Song," he manages, voice thick with pleasure, his hand moving to stroke at her cheek and the swell of her lips as her hand caresses him in feather-light strokes.

 

She is a vision. Cheeks and bosom flushed, hair wild from his hands, lips swollen and wet, kneeling at his feet and, after two centuries, still looking at him as though she wants to brand him as hers. "Do you know that I spent your whole lecture envisioning this? Well, not this, exactly. I wanted to listen to your lecture from between your legs. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my bad girl? Trying to lecture from behind that podium while I brought you off? Or maybe I should just tug you onto my lap-"

 

With a whimper, River's hand tightens on his cock, her mouth descending to suck at the head with a swirl that leaves him seeing stars.

 

But the Doctor can't stop talking now, and he knows from experience that River doesn’t really want him to. So he tells her other fantasies he daydreamed in her lecture, how much he wanted her. How much he always wants her.

 

River hums around him and his hands tighten in her hair, stopping just short of pushing her further down. She rewards him by wrapping her tongue sinuously around him, sliding up and down his cock before pulling back again, just hovering over the tip.

 

The Doctor throws his head back and fights against a whimper. Through the pleasurable haze, words spill out of his mouth in Gallifreyan. Pleas and expletives and a running commentary of just how she makes him feel.

 

River makes a soft noise of pleasure and slides him all the way into her mouth until he bumps against her throat, her tongue tracing patterns that leave him shivering.

 

He should have known it was vengeance his wife was after. She's been slowly torturing him over the unconscious Gallifreyan earlier. It backfires on her in the most delicious ways, if the way her hand disappears under her skirt is any indication. The image is nearly his undoing. He wants to haul River around and take over for her clever fingers.

 

But River has always been multitalented. She pulls back enough to wrap one hand around the base of his shaft, sliding it in time to the movements of her other hand against her own skin, her mouth sucking at his head.

 

He can feel her needy whimper against overly sensitive skin, and it's more than enough. His vision becomes exploding galaxies, all of them with River at their hearts.

 

River moans and he's pulling her up roughly as soon as he's able, one of his hands joining hers in the slickness between her legs, their fingers slippery and tangling together. His other hand pulls roughly at her shirt, freeing her brassiere-covered breasts to suck and nip at her nipples through the rough fabric.

 

He easily slips two fingers into River, curling them just so as River's hand slides up to circle her clit in rapid motions. She's still sensitive from his mouth and she comes quick and hard, muffling her scream as she sinks her teeth into his tweed-covered shoulder hard enough to pinch and sags immediately into his waiting arms.

 

It's not until they're both fighting to regain their breath and the Doctor has settled River more comfortably up next to him on the desk that the niggling _wrong_ feeling turns to alarm. Typically, the first thing he notices is that she would never own something in that bastardized shade of not-TARDIS-blue that the office walls are striped with. The other details filter in more slowly. There is a man's suit jacket hanging in a coatrack next to the door that is very much not his. "River," he begins slowly, noticing the degrees lining the walls, "This is not your office."

 

River shrugs and leans into his side, "It was closer."

 

The Doctor takes in her utterly debauched appearance, his fingers untangling the worst of the damage to her hair, and reflects that if they're about to be arrested for shagging in someone else's office _again_ , he has no complaints at all.

 

...


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second-technically-third lecture, he bounces one ankle across the other knee, anxious to be closer again. More than a few times, an overzealous bounce accidentally whacks the two closest students as he fidgets and switches legs. He makes an apologetic face, but it's not as if he can just sit still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Becs and Megs for their help!
> 
> Here. Have some more smut. *cough*

The second-technically-third lecture, he bounces one ankle across the other knee, anxious to be closer again. More than a few times, an overzealous bounce accidentally whacks the two closest students as he fidgets and switches legs. He makes an apologetic face, but it's not as if he can just _sit still_.

 

As soon as her lecture ends, he is scrambling over the railing well before the dazed students have even begun to gather up their things. He can't resist sauntering up the stage until he is right next to River, close enough to whisper under his breath, "You were brilliant."

 

River laughs, leaning toward him even as she tries to keep her eyes and smile directed toward the students still littering the lecture hall. "Oh, sweetie. You were practically vibrating off the seat in your effort not to comment."

 

"What can I say, River Song," his lips are close to her ear, "you have me all abuzz."

 

"Abuzz? Oh, Doctor, if I had thought a shock collar would work, I would have tried one years ago." She is sizing him up with the most delicious challenge in her eyes.

 

"Who says you didn't?" His hands brush down her arms, drawn to her. He feels her shiver and he grins. He's not the only one all abuzz.

 

"Um, Professor?" There's a student in front of them. Fiddling nervously with her PDA and staring between them, wide-eyed.

 

They both blink, slightly dazed. His hand hovers uselessly, not quite willing to drop from River's side but also not quite touching. River's face remains calmed, unconcerned. "Yes?"

 

"I had a question, um, about some of the artifacts from New Scotland?"

 

"Of course." River gives the Doctor a pointed look and shifts her attention toward the few students huddled nervously at the edge of the stage.

 

The Doctor brushes his hand down her arm one more time, pecking a quick kiss to her cheek and hurrying to busy himself with gathering up her lecture notes and case before he can be caught out blushing.

 

It's hardly his fault. His wife is simply impossible to resist.

 

Apparently, it's also impossible for the assorted students crowding the podium. The Doctor tries to wait patiently. Really, he does. But he's been waiting all lecture for her and, really, does everyone have to ask questions now, of all times?

 

"Did you know that, for a brief period, the New Scots misinterpreted the old vids and actually used kilts as ornamental headdresses? The error was quickly rectified, but if you tilt it just right, you can see the shadow of the kilt on his head where the etching was scratched out. Now, they'd got the undergarment bit right, or the lack thereof, so you can imagine the parties." The Doctor pauses and notes that four pairs of eyes are staring incredulously at him. He quickly backpedals, addressing the assembled students and hiding from River's glare. "That is, imagine is the operative word. And are you really old enough to be discussing kilts? Perhaps I'd best discuss the matter with Professor Song. Yes. That's really the only reasonable course of action. If you'll excuse us." He's tucked River's arm under his and is steering her toward the exit before she can think of an appropriate response.

 

He can't help it - River speaking Gaelic does _things_ to him. He cannot be held accountable for cutting across the opened-mouthed students and whisking River away with him.

 

Okay, so maybe he's a selfish old man. He shushes her complaints with a kiss and has no regrets at all.

 

...

 

The Doctor closes the door to River's office (he checked) and runs his finger across the auto-lock before spinning to run his eyes lingeringly across his wife.

 

His wife who is currently spreading out papers across her desk and not paying him a second's thought. The Doctor huffs and debates whether or not he should just leave her to work. He's not exactly been leaving her a lot of free time for grading lately. And she does look adorable leaning over her desk, futilely attempting to tuck her hair behind her ears, face all screwed up in concentration. And a delightful view down the top of her dress.

 

On the other hand...

 

River ignores him, even when he leans right into her, reading over her shoulder. "You should give this one points for creativity. Mobiles in the 16th century? Imagine what Liz I would have thought."

 

"Witchcraft, probably." River still doesn't look up, but she seems more distracted than annoyed.

 

She does look up when he rolls her chair back until it hits her bookshelf with a thud. He wiggles between her and the desk and rests his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning further into her space and breathing her in.

 

River relaxes into him, tilting closer with a soft sigh. Then her eyes snap up. "I have grading to do."

 

"But I've been so very patient." He's not been, really, but he's a selfish old man and he's alone with his wife. Patience has never been his strength.

 

He runs his fingers across River's arm, admiring the way she holds rigid, refusing to turn into his touch. He brushes his lips across the pulse of her neck, feeling rather than hearing her double-heart-rate speed into a gallop.

 

"You don't get to shag me in my office every time you manage not to interrupt my lecture," River huffs. She's still cross about him secreting her away from her students.

 

That's all right. The Doctor has plenty of ideas to make it up to her. He's not going to waste any second of this stolen time with his wife. He wants her with him, against him, on him, under him. He wants _her_ , all the time. And there's not much incentive to hold back now. He's lost too much time already - holding back when he should have been holding her. "Technically," his lips run up to tug at her ear, while his hands run across her body in soft strokes, just enough to tease, "it wasn't your office." He pulls back, just enough to look at her sparkling eyes and demand, "And why not?"

 

A smile tugs at her lips. "That's not how it works."

 

"And who says, Professor Song?" His hands are walking up her thigh now, just edging under the hem of her dress. River's not stopped him yet and her breathing is slightly shallow.

 

His hand skirts higher, tracing the lacy outline of her stockings and the smooth silk of her garter-belt.

 

The buzz of an intercom startles him enough that he jumps, arms scrabbling away from River and flailing across her desk to catch his balance as his back bumps its edge. One of his hands brushes across something smooth that must have been the answer button because a voice is suddenly blaring through the tension in the room. "Professor Song, do you have a moment?"

 

River answers calmly, even as she shoots the Doctor an amused look and reaches out to steady him. "Of course, Dean Chalmer. Just a moment."

 

She tries to brush the Doctor aside, reaching around him to disengage the locks and shooting him a stern look that clearly says she wants him to shut up and stay out of trouble. River Song telling him to stay out of trouble. Of course, he can't resist doing the exact opposite.

 

Instead of moving away, the Doctor flops down cross-legged and ducks his head to scoot under the ample space of her desk, tugging her chair closer and winking.

 

His fingertips resume their path up River's thigh just as the door to her office opens and the Dean ambles in. River shoots him a glare before turning her attention to the Dean. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

She tries to wiggle away from the Doctor, but there's only so much movement she can make without drawing attention to him under her desk, and apparently there's limits to the amount of trouble that Professor Song wants to get into. He pulls her closer in response and trails his fingertips across the damp satin of her knickers, grinning into the soft, stocking-covered skin by her knee.

 

Okay, so maybe it's a little bit of revenge for the office mix-up yesterday.

 

The Dean settles into the chair on the other side of the wood from the Doctor and begins. "I hear your husband has been visiting?"

 

"Mmm," River makes a noise that is probably more encouragement at the way his fingers are stroking her through her knickers than agreement with the Dean. "He's had some free time lately."

 

The Doctor hears the question in her voice and quickly begins kissing his way up her thigh to distract her, his fingers sliding under her knickers. River tries to kick him, but he just catches that leg with his free hand, ducking his shoulder under it and nipping at the crease of her thigh in retaliation.

 

The Dean continues agreeably, "Oh, good, good. Then perhaps you both will join me for dinner on Friday? My wife is cooking."

 

If River's response is slightly dazed, the Doctor figures she can blame it on surprise. His fingers circle her clit again, but her voice doesn’t waver. "That's very kind of you to offer, but my husband can be something of a picky eater."

 

He slips one finger inside her, twisting in and out of her slowly, careful not to give them away. He wants to retort that she's always been his favorite dish by far, but he settles for pushing her knickers to the side and tasting her with a soft kiss, tongue just teasing her clit.

 

The Dean leans his elbows on the table with a dull thump and River discretely scoots the chair even closer in, though there's certainly no way anyone can see anything with her  body pressed right against the edge of the desk and her hands clasped above it. "You are a valued member of this institution, Professor Song. We would welcome the opportunity to meet your husband - especially as he's been spending so much time attending your lectures." The wood creaks again, muffling River's sharp inhale as the Doctor adds a second finger and tongues harder at her clit. "I'm sure we can accommodate any dietary issues he may have."

 

River's thighs tremble, but her voice is only a shade too high. "I'm sure we'd be delighted to come."

 

The Doctor smirks. She's right on the edge, but he's careful not to tip her over, keeping up the tortuously slow pace. River may be an expert at hiding behind masks, but she always screams when she comes unless her mouth is otherwise occupied.

 

The Dean gets up, footsteps moving toward the far side of the room, and River heaves a shaky sigh. She scoots her chair back just far enough for one of her hands to snake under the desk and tug at the Doctor's hair, though it's hard to tell from the angle whether she's pulling him closer or pushing him away.

 

The footsteps stop. "One more thing, Professor." River's fingers still in his hair, her grip punishing. "I don't believe I caught your husband's name?"

 

The Doctor tightens his hold on her, dragging her closer and relishing the tiny grunts that River tries to mask with her breathing as he sucks hard at her clit just not-quite long enough. She doesn't overtly move, though she shoots him her surprised _you dirty old man_ look, which is his favorite second only to _he's hot when he's clever_.

 

"It's John," River bites out, her voice almost even as she lies with convincing ease despite her death-grip on his hair and his fingers and head between her legs.

 

"Well then, I look forward to seeing you both on Friday."

 

The door finally clicks shut, and no sooner has it done so than they are both pushing back River's chair and scrambling to their feet, hands tugging at one another's clothing in their rush to get their kit off.

 

The Doctor pushes at her dress until River pulls it over her head and tosses it away, her hands tugging down his trousers and pants and wrapping around his cock. The Doctor stills momentarily at the feel of her hands on him, and River takes the opportunity to push him back against her desk, climbing up after him. "That was rude, Doctor."

 

"And you enjoyed it." His movement is too restricted, his hands still caught in his shirtsleeves, and the Doctor hastens to wriggle out of it all together, while River strokes him possessively, one hand on his cock and the other palming his balls in a way that is guaranteed to drive him mad.

 

The Doctor finally manages to free his hands, papers flying off the desk in his wake. He bats River's torturous hands away from him and tugs her up his body so that he can take her face in his hands and snog her senseless. Her reply is swallowed by his mouth as she eagerly devours the taste of herself from his tongue.

 

For a long moment, she is all hot, glorious skin pressed against him, and the Doctor thinks he forgets how to breathe every time he has his wife in his arms like this. He'd gladly never breathe again if it meant he never had to let her go.

 

When River sits up, eyes glassy and body flushed, the Doctor cannot resist running his hands across her breasts and ribs and waist. Tracing the sweat beading already on her skin. Her hands dig into his chest as she rises above him, shaking out her hair and licking her lips.

 

They both hiss softly when she finally sinks down on him. The Doctor's hands find her hips, gripping tightly and dragging her down, unable to resist thrusting up right as she takes him all the way in with a little twist. River shatters unexpectedly, moan ending in a scream.

 

The Doctor can't help feeling more than a bit smug at that. He knew he'd kept her on the edge, but not that she was quite so tightly wound. "You did like it. My bad, bad girl."

 

"Oh, shut up," River manages, voice low and husky as she beings to move over him again.

 

Her pace starts slowly, and the Doctor is content to let her lead. The way her thighs and hands press into him, he doesn't have much choice in the matter. But River maintains the slow pace, rising almost all the way off him before slowly taking him back in, long strokes that keeps the heat simmering between them, but not quite enough to light the spark.

 

The Doctor groans, canting his hips up into hers as best he can, and one of River's hands snakes up to press against his throat. "I said, shut up."

 

He swallows, feeling his Adam's apple bob against her palm, and tries to suppress a shiver at her words. Usually there are handcuffs involved in these games. He loosens his grip on her hips, his thumb tracing her hipbone soothingly, and nods.

 

River's responding grin would be positively terrifying if he were anyone else. She's after revenge, teasing him with slow strokes the way he teased her earlier. The Doctor can't say that he exactly regrets his actions, if this is the outcome.

 

As River grinds down against him her grip tightens infinitesimally. The Doctor keeps his eyes pinned to hers and takes shallow breaths as she begins to increase her pace, her grip still slowly tightening - controlled, measured.

 

He's literally under her thumb, helpless against the ever-increasing waves of pleasure sparking across his over-sensitive nerve-endings, heightened with the surge of adrenaline from the pressure at his throat. The Doctor slides one hand down to press his thumb against her clit, matching the strokes of his thumb with those at her hip.

 

River curses in Gaelic, her grip tightening and pace increasing, breasts swaying delightfully as she bounces and the Doctor wishes he had more hands. Her inner walls are already fluttering around his cock and the Doctor knows that they're both close again.

 

River keeps her eyes on his as she leans forward, her moans and gasps increasingly obscene as her thighs slide against his. The Doctor scrabbles his feet against the floor, trying to get leverage, but it's useless with his trousers still caught round his ankles. Just a little more...

 

And then River is leaning down, trapping his hand between them as she covers his mouth with her own. He bites and licks at her lips until she opens her mouth and lets him breathe her stolen air. Her tongue thrusts into his mouth, demanding, and he kisses her back with abandon, as her hand tightens around his throat, just hard enough. His fingers press at her hip and clit as River rocks against him, all her muscles straining and clenching against him.

 

There is a hot rush of pleasure washing through him that leaves the Doctor gasping for breath he cannot catch. He arches up into River, and River pulls her mouth away and screams as she shatters above him, around him.

 

River's body goes slack against his own, and the Doctor focuses on catching his breath until the room stops spinning. River's fingers brush tenderly through his hair, while her lips brush in harsh breaths across his shoulder. The Doctor extracts his pinned hand from between them and brings it up to wrap around River, holding her to him, while his other hand resumes tracing the tender skin at her hip.

 

River's weight is reassuringly solid and real against him, his nerves still afire as their sweat-slicked skin dries and the smooth artificial wood of her desk digs into his back. It's not a particularly comfortable position, but the Doctor would gladly stay there for the rest of his long life.

 

He can feel River's eyelashes fluttering closed, her breaths slow and sleepy against his skin. The Doctor smiles, hands tracing soft patterns across her hand and side.

 

"You realize we have to go to dinner with the Dean on Friday."

 

It's muttered into his skin, but the Doctor can feel River's smirk. He blinks himself awake, indignant, "What? Why did you agree to that?" The words come out rough and scratchy.

 

"Because it was rather difficult to think of excuses when your head was between my legs, honey." River's voice is still muffled. She pulls back far enough to glare at him accusingly.

 

She's glaring at him from behind sleepy eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The Doctor swallows carefully, his throat feels ginger but not painful, and fails to resist the urge to trace River's eye and cheek and lips with soft kisses. "Oh. Well then, we'll think of something. We always do."

 

A smile wins out across River's face as she rests her elbows on his chest and leans into his playful kisses. "You're awfully agreeable all of a sudden."

 

"It's terribly hard to argue with you, River Song, when you're all naked and naughty and distracting."

 

River laughs softly, shifting to his side on the desk. "Remind me to distract you more often then."

 

"You always do."

 

...


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third day, he ends up with a wide berth of seats all to himself, right in the front. Not that it really helps. While his flailing limbs do not cause anyone damage this time, he is less able to contain himself without the distraction. Halfway through the lecture the exclamation leaps out of his throat. "That is wrong. Rubbish. Rot. Honestly, River, what are you teaching these children?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I thought the Doctor sitting through River's lectures was a good idea. It's fun to envision, but I spend far too much time trying to figure out his complaints... and then they end up coming out crack-y anyway. Ah, well, have some fluff.
> 
> Huge thanks to Megs and Becs, as always!

The third day, he ends up with a wide berth of seats all to himself, right in the front. Not that it really helps. While his flailing limbs do not cause anyone damage this time, he is less able to contain himself without the distraction. Halfway through the lecture the exclamation leaps out of his throat. "That is wrong. Rubbish. Rot. Honestly, River, what are you teaching these children?"

 

Immediately, he looks around at the empty seats surrounding him, hoping without hope that maybe he hadn't said that out loud. No such luck - the students are watching him and River eagerly, waiting to see how their professor will rebuke her husband.

 

River purses her lips. "And what would you have me teach them instead?"

 

The Doctor flails, caught out unprepared. River eyes him knowingly while he gestures wildly. He narrows his eyes at her and sits up straighter, tweaking his bowtie. "Well, you could at least mention the other sentient point of view."

 

Her eyebrow arches, and she'd be laughing openly at him if there wasn't a rapt audience observing them. "I'm not sure the feelings of Alpacas enter into the debate."

 

"Of course they do! If I were an Alpaca, I'd have feelings. Leveling the Andes for a space port certainly advanced space travel in that era, but think of the Alpacas, River. They just wanted to eat their grass in peace. That hunk of spaceport is not only a monument to space travel but a bookend to the natural Alpaca way of life." He moves to stand and pace the few free seats of space, finds the students blocking him from going any further, and flops back down in a huff at the end of his speech.

 

River's lip quirks up, and she bites it to keep it down. "There you have it, students." When she turns to address the class properly she has her professor persona on again, "The juxtaposition between the advancement of modern (at the time) technology and the natural ecosystem. To imagine what went on behind closed doors - what debates led to the decision to liquidate an entire mountain range. These issues have long since been resolved, but the changing climate and increasing demands of the populous on it were pressing issues in the 25th century."

 

The Doctor tries to look appropriately serious and approving, nodding toward River when the students glance his way. He's easily distracted by recent memories of River behind closed doors. He doesn't like to remember the fate of the Andes. Having two aliens leap into the fray after appearing in a blue box that could travel in space and time hadn't exactly had the desired effect and the Andes had been lost. He'd much rather think about the Alpacas, and how cross River and the TARDIS were with him for helping in the relocation process.

 

He's not even properly sure why he pushed her on it. River is the first person to look at both sides of a story, which he loves about her. He just wishes fiercely that she'd not had to learn that lesson in such a way. It's never bothered him that she killed him, but he hates how long it bothered her. All he ever saw was River saving him - his brilliant, beautiful wife.

 

If only he could save her.

 

The Doctor shakes off the melancholy and tries to focus on the lecture again. He keeps wanting to interrupt, to pull River's attention to him. To pull her away with him into the TARDIS and off on an adventure. Perhaps to query the Alpacas on their thoughts on climate change.

 

It's a Thursday, he realizes with mounting horror. The itchy feeling spreading over him like a second skin. The one that tells him to run or leap or fly or do _anything_ because the moon is rotating at 1023 meters/second and he is sitting still, still, _still_. He hates Thursdays. But he refuses to hate this Thursday because this is a Thursday spent with his wife. It will never be anything other than extraordinary.

 

He tramps down on the Thursday wrong feeling.

 

The nearest students, safe several seats away, eye him nervously. River continues her lecture smoothly, ignoring the Doctor fidgeting and huffing just as she always does.

 

But because River knows - she always knows - her eyes find his. Grounding him. The Doctor taps his ankle over his knee and lets River flow over him. Surround him. Until the itchy running feeling settles, replaced by thoughts that revolve around her rather than gravities and galaxies and centuries far distant.

 

It's just that it's a Thursday, the Doctor knows. He landed on a Monday and it has taken three whole days and now it is Thursday, and he always skips Thursdays, and he already survived a Tuesday, and what will he do about Sunday? Does River lie-in on Sundays and take tea in bed?

 

He thinks about lazy solar mornings in bed with River, trying to imagine if he's ever seen her have a lie-in. It's hard to tell. Time Lords don't really sleep often _per say_ but she is part human and she does sleep slightly more than him, especially when they've worn each other out. Visions of just how they wear down that Time Lord constitution make him flush and pull at his collar and bowtie.

 

Suddenly a Sunday lie-in with River seems like a brilliant idea. They'll have tea and Jammie Dodgers and maybe he'll eat the biscuits off of her instead of a plate. He has all sorts of ideas for breaking in this bed.

 

Yes, the Doctor decides, Sunday lie-ins are actually quite cool.

 

...

 

The Doctor is just wondering if a Thursday evening lie-in counts just as well as a Sunday afternoon one and whether or not that means he can convince River to let him have Jammie Dodgers in bed, when River props herself up with her elbows on his chest and demands, "How much longer are you planning on disrupting my lectures?"

 

He tries not to look guilty, caught out thinking about biscuits in bed, and traces one hand along the delicate bones along her shoulder as he teases, “Oh, you’d miss me if I wasn’t there. We have such a repartee now.”

 

River snorts. “You mean the one where if you don’t stop interrupting me I’m going to have to get my gun?”

 

The Doctor rolls them over, pinning River back against the bed lightly. “Always so kinky, River Song.”

 

River laughs and pushes him off her without much force, catching his wandering hands. “I’m serious, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor just grins, rolling onto his back next to her and spreading his arms wide. “I wouldn’t miss a lecture for the world.”

 

“Really?” River’s sarcasm is palpable in its disbelief as they both move to sit more comfortably against the headboard.

 

“Really.” He bops her nose. “Honestly, wife, you have no faith in me. I always finish my degrees.”

 

“You never finish your degrees.”

 

He huffs slightly, “Yes, well. None of my professors have ever been so fascinating.”

 

River’s eyes narrow, though her voice is purposefully light. “Oh? And what are you getting a degree in this time, my love? Cabinetry again?”

 

“Archaeology.” The Doctor preens, proud of himself. “How about that? We can both be Doctors of Archaeology.”

 

River gapes at him for a moment. The disbelief creeps into her tone. “Archaeology. Really, Doctor?”

 

The Doctor still can’t hide his grin. It’s worth it alone for the look on her face. “Well, I happen to have a… friend… who fancies the subject, and I figured, there must be something to it?”

 

River’s eyebrows raise but she refuses to be distracted by his teasing. His wife huffs. “You’re going to get a doctorate in archaeology, after hundreds of years of mocking me for it, because you’re just now realizing that I might have reasons for liking it other than just to rile you up?”

 

The Doctor just smiles gently. He’s getting sentimental, and he knows River knows, but he cannot be bothered to even pretend to hide it. “Something like that. There are worse reasons to start a degree than to be closer to my wife.” He pauses, for the first time genuine curiosity in the question, “Why do you like it so much, anyway?”

 

“I started with archaeology to find you,” River admits softly. And perhaps he’s not the only one feeling nostalgic.

  
The Doctor closes the distance between them and tucks River against him, resting his chin on her curls. “You never lost me.”

 

But the moment is past, and River shakes her head, “And now, it seems, I’ll never be rid of you.”

 

He refuses to let her pull away, his arms tightening around her even as his fingers write the third treeborg concerto in E-minor in soft strokes across her skin. “You’re the one who agreed to marry me.”

 

River sighs, melting against him. “The order of that is somewhat debatable, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor's eyes drift shut against his will, visions of River swirling amongst the music in his mind. “Yes, well, the order of our lives is somewhat debatable.”

 

“And yet, suddenly, we seem very much linear, my love.” The Doctor fidgets. “Care to explain?”

 

He can feel her smirk against his neck. He feigns offense. “Are you complaining about having your husband all to yourself?”

 

“Yes, it’s such a great joy to have you taking over my lectures and traumatizing my neighbors.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“Of course I do, sweetie.” River sighs, “You’re not going to tell me what this is about, are you?”

 

The Doctor keeps his head buried in her hair so that she can’t see his eyes, forcing his tone to stay playful, “Now what would be the fun without a few spoilers?”

 

...

 

As soon as they return to River's house, the Doctor rushes ahead of her, trying to decide if he dares to brave the TARDIS for the wardrobe or whether or not he has a proper suit stashed away in River's.

 

River sets her bag and tablet on the counter, toes off her shoes, and moves to put tea on. The Doctor spins back. "There's no time for tea, River! We'll be late! We're Time Lords - it would be terribly embarrassing."

 

River arches her eyebrow. "Because you're never late."

 

"No," the Doctor huffs, "I'm not. I have an impeccable sense of time, River Song. Other people just tend to be early, which is hardly my fault - the TARDIS doesn't listen to me at the best of times. Nothing to do with my flying or sense of time whatsoever."

 

River stows the kettle away and rolls her eyes, but she lets the Doctor drag her through the house anyway. "All right, my love. What are we going to be absolutely on time for?"

 

He stops in place, startled by her words, and River steps into him before she realizes. She looks up, confused, but the Doctor is already sputtering. "What are we - dinner at Dean Chalmer's, River! You can't have forgotten."

 

River pulls back, slipping into her room in front of him. "No. I thought you didn't want to go. I was going to send our apologies." Her tone light and unconcerned but the fact that she's found an excuse to avoid his eyes is a better tell than her voice.

 

"Nonsense." He throws open the wardrobe doors and dives amongst their clothes. _Aha!_ One of his top hats is stashed away in the back - he'll have to remind himself to put it there later.

 

When River remains by the bed, arms crossed, he secures the top hat on his head and quickly goes back for her. She still won't meet his eyes and she's not trying to steal his hat. The Doctor takes River's hands in his. "Hey. It's important to you, isn't it?"

 

River keeps her head down, "It doesn't matter, sweetie. I know you hate these things."

 

The Doctor's hearts clench. It matters more to her than he'd guessed. He wishes he'd been less selfish and done this sooner. He could have managed Thursdays and faculty dinners for River. Oh, how he wishes he had. He's becoming a collector of all of River's smaller moments. They're no less extraordinary than their grand adventures, and like precious gems for their rarity - the uninterrupted time he gets with her. No worlds to save - just dinners and lectures and dusty old books. "It matters, River. To me." He tucks her chin up and searches her eyes until the worried crinkles at their edges soften. "Now, find an appropriately stunning dress, Professor Song - you'll have proper competition for best dressed with me on your arm."

 

River snorts somehow delicately, brushing past him to venture into the bigger-on-the-inside wardrobe. "It's hardly a competition."

 

The Doctor ignores her teasing, indulging in the besotted grin he hides when she's looking as he follows her in, and rolling his top hat off his arm to twirl it in his hand. "No, it's really not."

 

...

 

The ornate artificial-wooden doors swing open in anticipation of their knock, revealing a well-dressed woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile. She looks them over and then calls over her shoulder, "Darling! Mr. and Mrs. Song are here."

 

"It's actually Doctor," the Doctor helpfully gestures to himself, "and Doctor Song," and to River, who shakes her head fondly at the wordplay. She's got her _he's an idiot but he's my idiot_ face on, and it brings a matching grin to his.

 

The woman, who must be the Dean's wife, shakes her head fondly and bustles them inside with her. "Oh, of course." Her hand lingers on River's, "So good to see you again, River."

 

"And you, Alma," River agrees blithely as they make their way through the overly intricate front hall and to the dining room.

 

In the end, River stole the top hat after all. She procured a dinner jacket from the back of her closet and he eventually agreed, though not without some fuss. The Doctor tugs at his dinner jacket only slightly sullenly - can one really be overdressed for a dinner party? He glances at River in the soft green dress she'd chosen, one that rather clings to her curves, and gets lost staring at her again. He suspects this is how she got him out of his tweed in the first place. Infuriating woman.

 

River bumps his hip with hers and he grins at her, dragging his gaze up to her face just in time to meet Dean Chalmer himself. "Ah, you must be this mysterious husband we've heard absolutely nothing about. I'm Elbias Chalmer, but call me Elbie in my own home, please. May I call you John?"

 

The man is all jovial smiles, and the Doctor likes him instantly. River surrounds herself with brilliant people, and he should've known better than to worry that she'd work for some stuffy old bureaucrat. Although, he now feels distinctly guilty about the shenanigans they've been up to in the last week - even though River started it - in the poor Dean's office and under his nose. The Doctor tugs at his bowtie, fighting against a blush. "Right. Lovely to meet you, Elbie!" He wraps his one arm more securely around River's waist and extends the other to the Dean, easily extracting it again from the slightly too firm grip. "Most people just call me the Doctor," he catches River's eye, "but John is - well - look at this house! Middle Greek Doric columns lining the halls - brilliant!"

 

They're attracting something of a crowd of onlookers. There's a sea of kind, curious eyes staring at him, and River is gripping his side hard enough to bruise through his jacket. The Doctor is not so subtly struck by the idea that they are all waiting to talk with him. Oh, he's been even more of a pillock than he'd feared.

 

The Doctor runs his fingers soothingly over the dip of River's waist and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He'd never thought - well that's the problem, really, he doesn't think when he should. He's old and foolish and he's forgotten about all the people that would be a part of River's life. The life she had to live separate from her life with him. The life he's missed.

 

While he's been hiding under River's skirts, she's been waiting for him to introduce himself properly into her life. Oh, of course she hadn't asked - River is as good at dancing around the truth as he is - and he's been treating this just like an extended visit. A one off. And it isn't a one off, not at all. This is their life ( _still_ , she's still alive here, now, and that's all that matters) and their marriage and he'll use this opportunity to get to know the sides of her that others get to see. After all this time, River Song is still the greatest mystery he's ever been lucky enough to delve into, and she never ceases to surprise him.

 

His lapse in conversation seems to go unnoticed - Dean Chalmer has launched into an ode to Greek architecture that contains more than a few structural errors in the meantime. Alma smoothly makes introductions around the room - it seems most of the archaeology and associated departments are accounted for. All the professors smile warmly at River and sneak glances at the Doctor.

 

River rolls her eyes and shifts so that she can maneuver him away from the prostrating Dean before he points out said errors, releasing her death-grip on his side and looping her arm through his instead. They quickly get caught by a small knot of interested partygoers and River sighs, her smile all teeth. "Oh, hello then." Her escape plan foiled, she seems resigned. "Have you met my husband?"

 

One of River's colleagues - clearly a historian - steps forward, friendly and outgoing. "I hear you've been sitting in on Doctor Song's lectures?"

 

The Doctor fidgets as best he can with River's arm looped through his. This is important; he has no intention of buggering it up for her. "Yes, well, I'm - auditing! Thought I might give archaeology a try - follow the old wife around as it were," he grins at River, waggling his eyebrows as much as he dares, "see what all the fuss is about."

 

River cuts across him, smiling at her colleagues while giving the Doctor quite a discrete, but no less dangerous, glare. "My husband is on sabbatical." She's being very careful to avoid calling him John. She'll do so if pressed, but she's trying to avoid it. He's too busy secretly basking in being so openly touted as her husband to rib her about it.

 

The historian turns bright, interested eyes toward the Doctor. "Oh? And what is it that you do?"

 

"I'm a temporal astrophysicist," the Doctor answers before River can. Close enough. Besides, he has all those degrees somewhere. She'll tease him later about admitting to being little more than a space-time mechanic, but it's the closest field in this century.

 

The assorted faculty blink. It is a bit too much hard science-y for archaeologists and historians. While they fish about for an appropriate topic, the Dean catches them up after all - coughing and offering, "Yes, well, that's - fascinating, I'm sure. We'd be happy to have you as a guest lecturer?"

 

His reply ends on a bit of a question, but the Doctor ignores that, suddenly awash with all the splendid ideas he could lecture on. He opens his mouth but River cuts across him again. "My husband is more of a consultant. He prefers _hands on_ applications," River smirks as he fights another blush under the Dean's probing stare, "the theory always comes out a bit wibbly-wobbly."

 

Just for that, he frees his arm and tucks her up against him, humming along easily with their laughter. "I could lecture, of course. I have been a professor a time or two before," his hand fiddles at River's waist as he tries to remember, "maybe thirteen."

 

Another colleague manages, "Thirteen?"

 

"Give or take," the Doctor corrects, still trying to decide whether to count only actual positions or those many days he's stepped in as a substitute for one reason or another. He actually quite enjoys giving lectures. All the bright young minds gobbling up knowledge - that one time literally, which was actually rather disturbing.

 

He brushes that thought away and grins at the assembled professors, most of whom are starting to look more than a little confused. River doesn't exactly look pleased. The Doctor fiddles with his bowtie and tries to figure out what he said that's making her look like she wants to slap him.

 

Thankfully, the history professor preserves and inquires politely, "Yes, but consulting, that's - quite an adventure. And who hires - uh - consulting temporal physicists nowadays?"

 

The Doctor fidgets again, dragging his fingers through his hair. He shouldn't have mentioned his professorships - didn't mean to, really, but they'd asked about lecturing - and now they're clustered around them, eyeing him with thinly veiled disbelief. These are River's friends, but they don't know him, and somehow he always manages to fumble first impressions. He's much better at coming up with something clever to save the day. This is important though, and he can't think properly when River is pressed against him in a manner that is simultaneously terribly distracting and vaguely threatening. "Oh, well, you see - I do a bit here and there, and I'm sure you _have_ but-"

 

"It's all a bit hush-hush," River says mysteriously, topping it off with her most devious wink, which is really saying something.

 

Her colleagues laugh heartily, like it's some sort of private joke, and cast each other befuddled glances as River hastily steers him away again.

 

He pulls her to a stop in front of some rather ornate pillars that look as though they may have been lifted directly from some dig site - though not one in this solar system, let alone Greece - and hisses, "Did you just make them believe I'm a time agent?!"

 

River leans back against the pillar and smirks at him, "You know how they are about time travel here, Doctor. Or did you have a better way to explain your thirteen professorships?"

 

He's so close to her now that his huff stirs the curls at her brow. "A time agent? They're little more than space cowboys."

 

Her eyebrow arches up suggestively as her hands absently adjust his jacket. "Jack will be so pleased to hear that. I think he's always wanted to do a cowboy."

 

It's an outrage and she's laughing at him. "River!"

 

"Only a consultant, Doctor. Nothing you haven't done a time or two - or thirteen." River replies breezily, smiling and nodding across the room even as he crowds her.

 

She knows far too much about him. Just because he maybe, accidentally started the time agency... "That's not the point," he grumbles. She's not taking him seriously.

 

"Would it help if I promised to let you wear your Stetson?" Her eyes are sparkling and as cross as he is, it's hard to deny her anything when she is enjoying herself so. Even if it's at his expense.

 

"You'll just shoot it again." His hand runs through his hair and he is momentarily grateful that she confiscated his top hat without shooting it, even though he knows that it is his one hat that River rather adores.

 

River bats his hands away and fixes his hair, her hand trailing down to his bowtie habitually. "I will not. Scouts honor."

 

She brings up her fingers in the proper salute, smirking. He'd remind her that she's hardly a boy scout, but with River anything is possible. Against his better judgment, an answering smile tugs at his lips. He tromps it down. "You can't just bribe me with hats, River."

 

His hands press between her and the cool marble of the column, his fingers dancing across the smooth fabric resting against her lower back quite entirely without his permission. He should have never challenged her over what to wear if he wanted to be able to think clearly, or at all. Not that he minds, really.

 

River arches into him as though they aren't in public, in her boss's home. Oh, his bad, bad girl. "Of course not, sweetie. I wouldn't dream of it." And then she's spinning away from the pillar and tugging him along with her, dragging his hands from his waist to be held in hers.

 

The Doctor follows her back to the crowd easily. He glances down at their loosely clasped hands and decides that he'll be a time agent or a cowboy or whatever else she wants, so long as he still gets to be her husband.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does enroll, as Doctor John Song.

He does enroll, as Doctor John Song. In a doctorate of archaeology program, with almost all his required credits waved due to documentation of a handful of his previous doctoral degrees (with the dates fudged, of course). The only class he wants to take is River's.

 

River rolls her eyes and calls him a nostalgic idiot.

                                                                                                         

The students call him Doctor Song.

 

He laughs and gently corrects them. "No, no. Doctor Song is my wife - just call me the Doctor!"

 

He stays as long as he dares - for her entire course, for the entire semester, for the entire year. Slotting in guest lectureships in various departments when River absolutely threatens his bodily integrity unless he lets her get some work done.

 

...

 

At first, he is afraid to go near the TARDIS. Their time together has the heavy, still weight of being stolen, and he's terrified that if he steps foot in the TARDIS time will rush forward again and carry him away ( _from her_ ).

 

He drags River out to every corner of the Lunar colony. When he runs out of new bits of Luna to explore, they even take the space-port hop back to New Earth. He convinces her it's for the novelty. "Come on, River - you can't tell me you've never been?!"

 

River rolls her eyes as she takes a window seat and tugs him down next to her and thankfully out of the way of some commuters that look spectacularly nonplussed by their upcoming trip. Teleports are faster, but the private ones are expensive and the public ones are sparsely dispersed. "I have a vortex manipulator, sweetie. Never really saw the point in taking the scenic route."

 

"Well, there's a first time for everything, River Song!" He bops her nose and looks around for the tea trolley. There's always a tea trolley on these things.

 

River catches him before he can unbuckle his seatbelt and jump into the aisle, doesn't openly laugh at him while he has a lengthy conversation with the automated trolley robot regarding tea choices, and rescues his tea from the little pull-out tray when his knees bump it and nearly send it flying. He's never been more in love with her, even as she huffs at him and mutters under her breath, "It would certainly be a first if you could sit still for five seconds, Doctor!"

 

He spends most of the trip crowding River into the window, with the excuse of trying to see out. He really is trying to see out the first few times, but there's hardly all that much to see in this quick corner of the Milky Way 4.0. There is, however, something to be said for a reason to press in close to his wife. The little smile that tugs at the corner of River's lips says she's figured him out. The Doctor just grins and leans closer, pointing out all the colonized stars they can see as they whiz past, looping around several outer planets in the solar system to avoid traffic before eventually making their way into New Earth's atmosphere.

 

He insists that they take the full route, all fifty-seven planetary stops, and River looks at him like he's crazy. "Scenic route," he reminds her, unable to stop from bouncing slightly in his seat as the people rush past them to exit or enter at each stop.

 

River shakes her head, "Have you ever actually been on a commuter flight for fifty-seven hops, sweetie?"

 

"No. That's the point, River!" The seatbelt rules are quite ridiculous, and his hand brushes River's thigh as he fiddles with the mechanism. She inhales softly at the touch but doesn't chastise him, so he does it again, purposefully.

 

River's eyes dart between his face and his hand before she nods shakily. "All right. I'll try to keep them from throwing you off, Doctor."

 

"Oh River," he presses her closer into the window, "what would be the fun in that?"

 

They manage a perfectly respectable twenty stops and end up unceremoniously tossed off in some nearly abandoned desert outpost.

 

...

 

River tries to coax him out of the solar system, but he digs in his heels. He tells her he's studying, or makes plans for them to go to museums or to Dean Chalmer's. He throws her an elaborate party for every single current holiday - her birthday and his and their anniversary and Christmas - in order.

 

When all else fails, he tumbles her into bed and distracts her.

 

Later, he tells her softly that he wants to do this right - just them, just this once, all in one place and time. River stares at him for a long moment while he refuses to meet her eyes before she agrees. "All right, sweetie, if you're sure."

 

He wraps his arms around her, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and dust and time on her hair, and cannot hide his relief. "I'm sure."

 

...

 

But every day that he passes the TARDIS, it gets worse. It doesn't feel like enough - not enough time, never enough - and he can feel it slipping away from him every time River gives him a pinched, questioning glance.

 

The melancholy eats at him.

 

Maybe if it were a proper adventure - the two of them, running - maybe then he could enjoy the moment and just forget - no, no. That never works. He's spent too many of their adventures already either grumbling that it's their first time or lamenting that it's their last. He promised himself he wouldn't waste these moments - such precious scraps of time - these rare moments, just the two of them.

 

But River is as ill-used to living in one place as he is. They both get restless. They row over arguments decades past - over dinner plans and academic requirements - over her lecture material and his shoddy, distracted note-taking, often scribbled over in Gallifreyan with entirely inappropriate suggestions. They always make up after, breathless and desperate, but it's never enough.

 

When River walks into his converted study with her vortex manipulator strapped to her wrist, he can't say he's surprised. Though his hearts instantly plummet into his feet anyway.

 

River sets her jaw and he knows that this will not be a discussion. "I'm going out, whether you come or not, Doctor. It's too big a universe to spend on Luna."

 

"Where?" His voice wavers as he asks and he has to keep his head bent over his books so that River cannot see his eyes. _Not the Library. Not yet_. He's not ready yet. And he knows with absolute certainty in that moment that he'll never be ready. He'll never be able to properly say goodbye. He's greedy for her - selfish - he doesn't want eternity if it is without River.

 

"Well, I thought we might pick up some chips at Calderon Beta, for a start. Nothing like dodging all the other versions of us milling about - it might as well be our anniversary."

 

Calderon Beta. The Doctor suddenly feels lighter than he has in weeks. "I could use a new hat."

 

"And I could use the target practice."

 

But they're both grinning and River lets him grip her hand the whole time without comment. It's not a proper adventure, not quite - no danger on Calderon Beta beyond too hot chips and potential paradoxes if they run into their other selves - but the Doctor doesn't quite feel up to that anyway.

 

River seems to understand.

 

...

 

They're munching on chips in a tiny boat, far out into the pitch black sea, waiting for the stars to come out. They've done this enough times that there's unlikely to be any looming danger - not even drowning. River has remembered to pack extra oars in case the Doctor loses the first set, and he rather suspects she has a portable engine tucked away in her bigger-on-the-inside bag. He gets momentarily distracted by the idea of emptying both of their pockets to compare - he might have a spare engine or two in his own - when River shifts and makes a soft little sighing sound that immediately captures the Doctor's attention.

 

He glances up, chip in hand, suddenly alert, his good mood already a faded memory. There's no surprise (and it really would be a surprise, after the number of anniversaries they've spent on this water) sea monster behind him - he checks - and River has her eyes fixed on her lap. He thoughtfully chews his last chip as he tries to determine the best way to go about asking what's wrong - he's been married long enough to know that it's never straightforward with River.

 

"I miss them too, you know."

 

River's voice is deliberately soft, steady. He doesn't need to ask who she means. The Doctor swallows hard, forgetting about the chip and nearly choking into his next incarnation - and oh, River would kill him twice for wasting a regeneration like that. Sputtering to recover, he reaches out and covers River's hands with one of his. "I know."

 

River glances up sharply at his coughing fit, but her eyes quickly focus on his bowtie instead of his face. "They loved you, you know - you were their best friend - but they made their choice. Amy made her choice. They lived their lives, Doctor, and they were happy."

 

There's something about her phrasing - the Doctor meets River's eyes steadily. Oh River - his brilliant wife - busy trying to comfort him when he can see the hurt shining in her eyes. "They loved you too, River. You'll always be their daughter." She glances down, worrying her hands, a gesture he thinks she got from him, and he continues softly, "I'm glad they were happy together, River. Like us," he swallows, suddenly desperately needing her affirmation, "we're happy together, aren't we? I know I don't always say or do the right thing but-"

 

She cuts him off, mercifully, squeezing his hand as her lips brush his. "Of course we are. Besides, if we weren't happy, I would have killed you years ago, my love."

 

He can't resist tugging at his bowtie with his free hand and grinning at her. "You did. It didn't take."

 

A smile teasing at the corner of her lips, River shrugs easily. "Oh well, I guess I'm stuck with you."

 

They hear a splash somewhere off in the distance, and River laughs, low but genuine. The Doctor blushes and pretends to be irritated, "It's not funny. It took me ages to get my tweed dry."

 

Reminders of his clumsy younger self and happier times seem to have snapped River out of whatever melancholy mood she was in, and she meets his eyes gratefully. "Well then, you shouldn't have stood up in the middle of the boat, sweetie. Honestly, what did you think would happen?"

 

"I thought I was being romantic," he pouts, shuffling carefully toward her on the tiny ship that bears them.

 

"You got me soaking wet!"

 

"Did I now?" He can't resist smirking, just a bit, and River blushes ever so slightly at being the one caught out by an innuendo.

 

"Careful, I might decide to recreate that anniversary and throw you overboard." But she shifts to the side and lets him stretch out next to her, curling around him as they remember that long ago anniversary happening just beyond them in the mist. There's dozens of versions of them, spread out in boats across the same sea, tucked safely away in the low mist and waiting for the stars to light up the sky. Dozens of anniversaries, and dozens more on land - splayed across branches, waltzing through the tourist center, scaling the rocky mounts.

 

On this day, this small planet might as well be populated only by them. So many times that surely the paradoxes have folded in on themselves and somehow stabilized from the mess of them.

 

It's peaceful, in its way.

 

...

 

They settle into a surprisingly easy sort of domesticity that is uniquely them. He cooks every strange and fabulous recipe he's ever learned with the (often paltry) ingredients on hand in the kitchen. River sits on the countertops, polishing her various weaponry and proclaiming loudly that she will never eat that _and where did you learn to cook, sweetie, honestly!_ He usually tells her stories about years he spent teaching famous chefs, as they debate whether or not a purple carrot-like-product is a viable substitution or who really came up with the Yorkshire Pudding. He convinces River to try whatever he was cooking anyway.

 

Half of the time they end up ordering take-away - which actually means dashing off in the TARDIS to some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that only existed in one particular century in a little corner of a country in a tiny corner of a planet in a miniscule corner of the universe. By the time they make it back, they are breathless from running, sometimes a bit singed at the edges, and they've usually completely forgotten about or stayed out far past dinner. Sometimes they don't come back for months, though they make sure to return seconds after they have left; the TARDIS landing while the echoes of her departure are still fading away.

 

Her neighbors hate him.

 

Though he can't understand why. Compared to River's target practice in the backyard, his tinkering in the garage can hardly be considered a nuisance. He's only blown it up twice. Okay, maybe three times. But that last one doesn't count - it's hardly his fault that they brought a hitchhiking Warg back with them from Cocharloid Prime and it chewed through the wiring of his latest thing-in-progress.

 

River just busses his cheek and tells him they'll have to host a dinner party for the neighborhood. Honestly, he couldn't think of anything that sounds less fun, but then River shows him the dress she's planning to wear. He takes great joy in stripping her out of that dress. And, well, the idea of watching her in it all night, knowing exactly what it's going to look like on their bedroom floor...  is just too torturous and appealing to pass up.

 

...

 

He stays until staying feels like running away. Until the looks River shoots him out of the corner of her eye have almost found the words for questions he can't answer. Until he becomes melancholy, like it is all just a dream that is slipping through his fingers no matter how he scrambles to hold onto it. Because he already knows he will have to leave and face a world without River when he desperately wants to just stay here. For the first time in all his long lives, he just wants to stand _still._

 

....

 

The end of the academic year sneaks up on him. He's been so caught up in River - in their adventures and their dinners and their strange little life here - that he's, once again, lost track of the calendar.

 

It's the message that first alerts him. The neat little electronic hologram, gamely reading out an announcement that he's met his requirements and just needs to submit his final dissertation.

 

He's already written it, of course, off on one of their adventures months earlier, but he'd rather forgotten about submitting it and it hardly mattered anyway when he was busy taking in River's lectures. But the message nags at him - an anxious tingling sensation building up until his mind finally latches onto the source of distress.

 

His degree is complete and the year - this year, their year - is coming to an end. The sadness that he's kept neatly tucked away rises up and swallows him whole. He's been running. He's been running with River to run as far from her death as he can. And his time is up. He can feel it in his too-old bones - a dragging pull that eats at him and tells him he's _out of time, out of time._

 

The day he turns in his dissertation, River is waiting for him at home. He finds her in the backyard, lounging against the TARDIS doors, one hand pressed against the wood as she murmurs softly to his ship. She smiles when she sees him, but the way she kisses him - that raw edge of longing and desperation - tells him that she knows too. He kisses her harder instead, clinging to her. Tells her that they ought to throw a party - celebrate sharing the same degree. Suggests wild adventures they might go on - full of dusty old artifacts and possibly still quite alive old monsters.

 

River offers him a tight smile. "It was lovely to have you here, sweetie. Now, go off and save the universe before I stop it again, just to give you something to do."

 

He smiles weakly. "I don’t want to go."

 

"None of that, my love. You have to go be the Doctor, I have to be River Song the Professor, and we can't always be those things together." She eyes his watery smile and grips his hand tighter, voice suddenly whisper-soft, "Just - don't leave it, whatever it is, so long next time, Doctor." And then she's letting go of his hand and striding away.

 

...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _before_ you kill me, hear me out. This is the end of the first part of this story - the Doctor's first visit to Luna University. River's already spoiled him about other visits. In fact, there are going to be three distinct parts to this fic. And, while I can't promise that this is the last angsty bit, there will be lots of fluffy bits to make up for it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who was patient with the long gap between the last two chapters. I'm never exactly fast at updating, but I know this was a rough wait. If it helps, I already have a large chunk of the next chapter written and ready to go, so the wait should be less.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Becs for betaing this chapter!


	9. Part II: Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd originally assumed that River's spoilers had meant he'd been to visit her multiple times, but as soon as he leaves, he panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I failed at getting this chapter out quickly, but it is a long chapter to make up for the wait. Thanks to Becs for looking it over - all remaining mistakes are my own.

He'd originally assumed that River's _spoilers_ had meant he'd been to visit her multiple times, but as soon as he leaves, he panics. What if he only has one more visit left? He turns the TARDIS right around, but he cuts it too close in his haste and refracts off himself leaving - he should have toggled the tenth toggle one extra quarter wiggle - and by the time he's compensated he knows it's all gone wrong.

 

He rushes up the familiar path to River's office anyway - his hands dragging through his hair - harrumphing at passersby.

 

River's not in her office. He turns, terrified, to find one of River's colleagues looking at him askance. "What are you doing here? Professor Song has gone -"

 

Before she can finish that sentence, the Doctor has fled. Running back to the TARDIS, the unsaid words ringing in his ears: _River Song has gone to the Library._

 

After that, he is afraid to try Luna University for a long time. He broods mostly; manages to muster a shadow of his old self for Clara on occasions that might be Wednesdays. He is undeniably curious about Clara - the impossible girl - but even he can't deny that it's just a poorly applied plaster - a distraction. His mind and hearts are still with his wife - heavier every day - closer to the Library.

 

...

 

It's not until his unfortunate encounter with the Cybermen that he realizes he can wait no longer. He tells himself it doesn't mean anything that he's taking Clara and her wards on an adventure he'd always meant to have with his Ponds. But he spends the whole time - well, the times not actively fighting against Mr. Clever - hoping that River might be around every corner. She is scarily proficient at disassembling Cybermen back into their cyber-components. He shouldn't like that. Kind of does.

 

And it's exactly that kind of distraction that almost loses him the chess match. He can't save Clara and the children and a whole planet if he's busy missing River.

 

His mind is made up for him when Mr. Clever teases him cruelly about _sacrificing the queen_. He's done his utmost to keep River out of his mind so that the Cybermen cannot get their hands on her. He is unreasonably possessive over River, especially the one in his mind and memories - he often fears those memories are all he has left.

 

But it's clearly an impossible task to not think about River when he's fighting Cybermen and playing chess and on a Pond Family Vacation without his Ponds. He sees River everywhere - in ghosts and games and guns (always, with the guns). So his mind lingers over her reverently, even as he tries to guard her from Mr. Clever to keep her safe.

 

He will not sacrifice River. Ever.

 

The blaze of fire and ice that races through his blood at the mere _suggestion_ that he ever would is enough to focus him. He has a chess match to win. And a planet to save. And a plan-in-progress because if River is not here to dismantle the Cyber legions, well then he will just have to do it himself.

 

After all, his wife is waiting.

 

...

 

He's learnt his lesson since the last time he parked the TARDIS at Luna University, and he makes sure to arrive during the previous hour's lectures this time. He strolls across the artificial grass (grassborgs? He can't remember) and into River's building in time to fix his bowtie before passing period.

 

The bell echoes and the Doctor easily follows the herd of students diving toward the largest lecture hall. His wife's lecture is always popular.

 

He slips in amongst the crowd and, for once, settles near the back of the auditorium. He just needs a moment. He has been off exploring and saving worlds and he has just missed her so terribly. If he's perfectly honest - and he almost never is - he has been saving this moment. Putting it off as long as possible. He almost couldn't let her go the last time, and he had this moment to look forward to. Spending so much time together has made him miss her in new and aching ways. All he wants is his wife, with him, and he has to live with the horrible gnawing knowledge that any time they have together is just stolen. A fleeting dream.

 

If this is truly the last time he will have this her, he wants a moment to just drink in how alive she is before she fades from him. He's afraid that if she sees his face, in this moment, it will be full of spoilers.

 

So he hides in the back row of seats, staring at his toes and scanning the room out of the corners of his eye. Impatient and hopeful and terrified, and then he sees her.

 

River Song has the brilliant ability to make him forget everything but her. When she walks into the room his attention is immediately fixed on her - the way she moves, the way her hair bounces, her naughty winks and knowing smirks. This little trick of hers has caused him more than a bit of embarrassment, three broken ribs, a handful of not-subtle reminders that Rory owned a sword, and enough arrests for public indecency that he's considered using them as wallpaper (only mostly to see River's response). And he doesn't regret a single moment of it. Flirting with River is always absolutely really important flirting.

 

As he watches her smile and gesture and flirt with just her eyes - how does she _do_ that? - the Doctor reflects that one of the best things about River Song is that she makes him forget everything else in that moment - even herself.

 

He watches River anxiously shove her curls back behind one ear while she splays out her notes and realizes with a start that she's nervous. All his attention whips into the here and now, scanning the crowd and exits. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, twisting his hands and wishing that he had taken his customary seat in the front after all. What in this universe does River Song ever have to be nervous about?

 

"Good afternoon. I am Doctor River Song, and this is Archaeology 402: Middle Ancient Earth History. You all should have received a copy of the syllabus and be aware of the expectations." She leaves a moment for questions while the students shuffle with their electronics and the Doctor fidgets, anxious for her to continue.

 

When no questions are forthcoming, River seems steadier. One brow arching slightly in amusement. "We will begin with the twentieth century. Though many of you may regard this as barely out of the stone ages, the twentieth century was a time of great innovation and revolution. Much like any century, there were tragedies and triumphs. The horrors of the first two world wars juxtaposed with the first beginnings of civil rights and equality for all."

 

There is an excited murmur throughout the class. Oh, they know all the big events vaguely from primary school history lessons. But River speaks with the kind of wistful longing and familiarity that comes from having been there, having lived there. Having seen the tragedies and triumphs first hand - often with him at her side.

 

She turns a rueful smile toward the class. "And, perhaps most relevant to all of you: the century when humanity first ventured out into the stars and landed on the moon."

 

Because River is River, the original footage begins to play in perfect clarity on the giant wall behind the stage. Complete with the warning against the Silents that the class will never consciously remember.

 

The Doctor feels his breath catch. Of course River would open with that footage, even now, even long pardoned. When nothing happens - no Silents stalking her anymore - the Doctor and River let out their breaths in quick huffs.

 

River looks up and her eyes find his. For just a moment, her eyes light up with the smile that she can't show, and then she is briskly moving on. "Now that I've got your attention," her eyes dart back to him, more confident this time, "let's begin."

 

And the Doctor allows himself a moment to just remember. The moon landing and 1969 and the Silents and their wedding. Oh, their first wedding. It could never have been anything but every time, every _thing_ , all at once. The Doctor and River, married across every point in history over and over again. So in love that they stopped time and restarted it again with a kiss. River Song never stops saving him with a kiss, and he hopes she never will.

 

The Doctor is distracted from his musings when a student two seats over raises his hand and starts talking even before River has a chance to acknowledge him. "There has been ancillary archival evidence that the moon landing was not humanity's first solo adventure into space. Several sources seem to indicate that outside forces were instead molding this trip for their own purposes."

 

The Doctor sputters slightly, glaring at the offending pupil for both interrupting River and knowing far more than he should.

 

River shrugs again, though he can see the tension in her frame. "Well, that is certainly an interesting theory." Her eyes seemingly casually drift from the student in question to the Doctor and back again, making a lazy circuit of the row. "Recovered artifacts have provided ample evidence that many alien societies were taking an interest in Earth during the twentieth century and even earlier, though it is almost universally accepted that it wasn't until the twenty-first century that other cultures truly began to take note of humanity. That said, I do not recall any _credible_ sources linking aliens to the moon landing. While archaeology is certainly open to multiple interpretations, one has to learn how to discern reliable, physical evidence from mere conspiracy theories. This is particularly difficult with early Earth history, as there were multitudes of theories about aliens on Earth that were pure fantasy."

 

Her tone of voice makes it perfectly clear that the subject is not open for further discussion, and a titter runs across the audience at the question-asker's expense. The Doctor is just putting the student out of his mind when the same voice interrupts again, and the Doctor feels a flash of irritation at the complete lack of _manners_.

 

"Recently reconstructed initial drafts of Nixon's memoirs mention mysterious phone calls that could not be traced or stopped, relating to a young girl and what was likely an alien encounter. Are the historical archives not credible sources?" He sounds just a touch smug - a first year, trying to prove his intelligence by besting the professor.

 

River's rebuttal is a second too slow, and the Doctor feels more than hears the catch in her composure at the mention of her first life. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, faced with his own failure to rescue her - to understand what she was telling him - when there were two of her _right there_. He cannot change the past, their past - not one line - and he's mostly come to terms with that. This, however, he can fix. Right now. He sits up straight. "And you're proposing that Tricky Dick's memoirs are a bastion of truth?" The student starts to reply, but the Doctor barrels ahead, his mouth running away with the rest of him. "Next you'll be saying that the references to a troop of British spooks sneaking an invisible blue police box into the Oval Office are unimpeachable? That's your source material, seriously? Quoting one of the most infamous liars in that century in support of some alien conspiracy? Even Nixon occasionally knew when to leave things to the experts. And Doctor Song is an expert - she knows more about history than you could hope to learn in two lifetimes, even if you read every memoir in existence."

 

Silence meets his statement, before River clears her throat and deadpans, "It's good to see pupils so passionate about history." She manages to both glare at the Doctor and make him blush, a trait that is unique to River Song. "That is, after all, the backbone drives the archaeological pursuit. Now, moving on to some verifiable artifacts recently recovered from the original moon-"

 

The Doctor sits down sheepishly, from where he'd rather been hovering over the offending pupil, who looks properly chastened. River is clearly fighting a blush, though she continues to shoot him warning glances as though he were the one to make a scene. The other students are eyeing him with a bright shine of curiosity that says he revealed a bit too much, and he privately admits that perhaps he had been a little overzealous. It's just - River Song is brilliant. And he hates to see anyone doubt her - worse still; he hates the small wobble in her voice at the start of this lecture that clearly said River doubted herself.

 

Still, he knows that River is more than fully capable of fighting her own battles, and he takes a deep breath as he tries to keep his head down and not distract further from River's lecture. Now that he's finally here, he can't stand to miss a moment.

 

...

 

When class finally lets out, the Doctor wastes no time wiggling his way against the crowd and toward River. There are still a few students around; queuing to ask questions about the syllabus that they were too shy to ask aloud earlier and a few already half in love with his wife, if the dreamy looks in their eyes is anything to go by. The Doctor prides himself on recognizing the signs.

 

He raises his hand and bounces a bit, until River bites her lip and turns toward him. "Yes?"

 

The other students let him through, curious, and the Doctor edges closer to where River is leaning against the podium. He is drawn to her. He can't be expected to be in control of his limbs when she is around. She's eyeing him warily and a bit expectantly, and he can't help smirking a bit. His beautiful wife. "Fascinating lecture. Brilliant really. But I'm curious," he leans in closer, twisting his hands to stop from burying them in her hair, "given so little _archaeological_ evidence has survived from the time, how were you able to put together such a strikingly thorough reconstruction of the attitudes and events surrounding Woodstock?"

 

River's eyes almost flutter closed and he grins, licking his lips. He can almost see the way her pulse jumps at the memory. Turnabout is fair play. He suspects that particular adventure wasn't on her syllabus until she realized he was in the room.

 

"You'd be surprised how many recordings and images survived into the digital age." He can almost hear the _sweetie_ that she swallows back.

 

"I am. Especially since most of _that_ was lost between the exodus of the 29 th century and the recolonizing of New Earth and the adjacent solar system."

 

They're nearly nose to nose now, the Doctor stooping slightly so that he can watch the way the flecks of color in River's eyes dance and darken. River bites her lip, body swaying instinctively toward him. "It's amazing what one can dig up with the right tools."

 

The images that flood his mind are positively filthy and have very little to do with archaeological accuracy. He's remembering their trip to Woodstock. River had poisoned him - again - and, while he firmly maintains that hallucinogens have no effect on him, the results were certainly interesting. River had _acquired_ a camera to keep him occupied, and they'd spent the day in a blur of color and music and photographs. He mainly remembers her hair being like a rainbow or maybe a prism, even as she alternated laughing and huffing at him. He'd put on quite a show of being cross over being drugged and River had more than made it up to him, even if her eyes had sparkled in way that said she saw right through him.

 

The Doctor opens his mouth to inquire whether her vortex manipulator qualifies as a _tool_ , when a nervous cough sounds behind him. He jumps at the sound, whirling around guiltily. He'd forgotten entirely about the handful of students still lingering. Definitely a good thing he didn't mention the vortex manipulator. He tries to remember if he's said anything else he shouldn't. The students are rather wide-eyed.

 

The Doctor pales and turns to River, who has carefully positioned the podium between them, her eyes sliding away from his. River actually looks embarrassed. The Doctor finds himself strangely fascinated by the blush staining her downturned cheeks. He clears his throat, twisting his hands and wondering how he's supposed to respond.

 

River, as always, rescues them both. She offers him a formal nod and turns a forced but cheerful smile toward the rest of the students, as though they hadn't just been interrupted flirting terribly. "The Woodstock records were acquired with a lot of hard work, and more than a little luck. Other questions?"

 

The students shuffle their feet a moment under River's eye before managing to recollect their thoughts into the form of coherent questions. River nods patiently, answering them with as much enthusiasm and far less antagonism than she had the Doctor's.

 

The Doctor lets out a quick sigh of relief when the last eyes drift from him to River. Normally he hates being ignored. But he's content to watch River interact with her students, full of zeal and knowledge beyond their imaginations. It's taking everything he has to not just drag River into his arms where she belongs, but even he realizes that he should not snog his wife until after the children have left the room.

 

He can't believe he's even considering it - River's been a terrible influence on him.

 

(He's missed her influence more than he has the words to express in any language.)

 

When the last of the students finally drift off behind closed doors, River rounds on him. Eyes flashing fire. "They think I'm sleeping with a student!"

 

The Doctor is practically vibrating with the need to touch her. He crowds her, backing her into the podium, his voice coming out low, "Do I look like a student?"

 

"You look like you're twelve!"

 

The Doctor kisses her quiet. Relishing her racing pulse and flushed skin pressed against him. The soft sigh she gives as she melts into him, quickly wrapping her hands in his coat; always tugging him closer when she should be pushing him away. The way her mouth battles against his, trying to take control, full of fire and need. He ignores his own matching need, kissing her slowly and languidly, exploring her. Pouring every ounce of how much he has missed her into her mouth.

 

When he is finally forced to catch his breath he only pulls back far enough to brush River's hair out of her face. He smiles down at her, hands tangled in her hair. He's going to kiss her again. "Still think I'm twelve?"

 

River's eyes are slightly glazed. She bites her lip and shakes her head, and her anger at his presence in her lecture is forgotten. For the moment, at least. "I suppose you might be a bit older. A hundred, maybe."

 

He can't help but be amused and affronted at the same time. "I looked far older than this at a hundred, River."

 

"Oh, I know." Now she's smirking, her hands coming up to adjust his bowtie and her eyes focusing on his lips.

                             

Flustered, the Doctor tries to pull back and finds himself caught by her hands. "How can you know?!" When River just laughs, he kisses her instead.

 

This time, when they part, River searches his face. "I wasn't sure you would be here."

 

"And miss the twentieth century?" Their hands are too tangled up with one another, so he leans forward to bop her nose with his. "River, you wound me."

 

River just grins at him. "Well, with the way you drive, how was I supposed to be sure whether or not you'd miss my first university lecture? Although, maybe you should have done. At this rate, I'll be sacked before they even officially name me as professor."

 

The Doctor lifts his head from her neck, where he's been rather occupied in finding creative new ways to make her hearts race. _Her first lecture. Doctor Song._ He'd smack himself upside the head for being thick, if he wasn't afraid that River would just agree with him. Instead he smiles into her skin, kissing his way down to her clavicle. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Doctor Song." He pulls back long enough to fix her with a serious look, as he untangles his hands from her hair and moves to the buttons of her collar. "Besides, why would they ever get rid of you? They loved you." He swallows. "You're going to be an amazing professor."

 

"Thank you, sweetie." She catches his hands in hers, resting back against the podium. "Besides - you were the one who gave me the idea. Spoilers, remember?"

 

He does. He also remembers being terrified at how fascinating he found her and more than a little jealous. "You could always remind me," he reaches around her for her briefcase, "are there handcuffs in here?"

 

"Doctor!" She laughs, but it's low and delighted. She attempts to bat him away, but the movement just gives him an opportunity to go for her blouse again. "Stop. Not here. What if someone comes back in?"

 

"They already think we're sleeping together," he tugs her blouse out from her skirt and slips his hands underneath to run across the bare skin of her sides, "might as well prove them right, eh?"

 

River huffs and crosses her arms loosely over her chest, though the way she's biting her lip tells him she's already given in. The Doctor tears one hand from her warm skin to dig out his sonic and aim it determinedly at the far doors. He doesn't dare try the sound system again but, as much as he enjoys being the one to tease River, he doesn't actually fancy being interrupted.

 

"My parents are going to skin you alive for not bringing them," River observes casually.

 

His breath catches and he swallows the painful lump blocking it. Even after all this time, it still hurts. Visions of a timeline where his Ponds are sitting with him in the front row, all puffed up with pride and delight at River's lecture dart across his eyes. But he's stolen that chance away from all of them now, and River has no idea. He musters a smile from somewhere. "I'm sure they'll catch the next lecture," he lies carefully. "Besides, if they were here, I couldn't do this," he kisses her again, desperate to distract them both.

 

When they part, breathless, River manages to tease, "It's never stopped you before, sweetie."

 

Grinning unrepentantly, River hops on top of the podium, undoing the buttons of her blouse with a deliberate sensuality that drags his gaze and hand back to her almost immediately. He manages to fiddle with the sonic just long enough to lower the podium stand, watching River's eyes widen in pleased surprise. She drags him between her legs with her hands at his lapels while he runs his along the smooth honeyed skin of her ribs and abdomen, relishing her shiver.

 

"Or this," he amends, hands continuing their journey downwards to hike her skirt up without remorse. He loves River in anything, but he has a special fondness for her lecture attire - mostly modest and just a bit daring, though not so daring as her jodhpurs. Still - skirts have their advantages.

 

River's hands thread through his hair, shutting him up with a knowing kiss as she draws him closer. Her breasts press against his chest and her legs wrap around his waist and fire sparks and flares at her every touch. The Doctor feels as though he's running hot and cold at once after so much time devoted to memorizing her followed by so much time trying to forget her.

 

The reality of River cannot be contained by memories or ghosts or data cores. Cannot capture the way her hands clutch at his bowtie or strip off his coat. The warm, throaty sigh she makes as his fingers push aside her knickers and slide into her, stroking until she grinds down against him, her legs falling open and her clever hands already undoing his shirt.

 

Her teeth nip at his jaw and lips, her tongue teasing over raised flesh. He presses his temple against hers and closes his eyes, listening to her breathy gasps and his stuttering breaths as her hands move to his trousers, teasing him with firm strokes over the fabric before she moves to free him.

 

He picks up his pace, thumb circling her clit, and River bites out increasingly creative curses in dead languages against his ear. Her hands falter and move to brace herself, one gripping the edge of the podium while the other digs into his side. The Doctor mutters encouragement against her temple, breathing in her scent and wondering how he'd ever lasted a moment without her. "That's my girl. That's it, River. Come on, let go."

 

River's muscles clench and flutter around his hand as he curls his fingers and pulls his head back just enough to watch her. Her eyes fly open, wide pools of lust and love and blazing intensity, and her teeth close over her lower lip to muffle her cry as she comes apart.

 

The Doctor strokes her down gently, and he's only just slipped his hand from between her legs when River leans forward, grabbing him by his collar and hauling him forward for a messy kiss that leaves his knees weak and his blood boiling. Her tongue strokes against his and her hands slide down his back to press him closer and then he's settled between her legs and he can't hold back any longer.

 

They haven't even managed to get undressed, open shirts tangling as his trousers bunch around his feet and River's skirt bands across her waist, breasts spilling out over the cups of her bra, his bowtie wrapped around one of her fists. But when he sinks into her, all he can feel is River, the hot wet bliss of her wrapped all around him.

 

His hands settle at her hips, dragging her bottom off the edge of the podium and draping himself across her until River lays back - splayed across the podium with him bent over her. River wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and lets him press her across the scattered papers and electronics with a needy whimper. There's no room for words between needy breaths and swollen lips.

 

If there's something a little too fierce and urgent in the thrust of his hips against hers, River just clings tighter to him, one hand clutching a fistful of his hair and the other digging into his shoulder through his shirt. Her mouth urges him on, her sharp teeth tugging at his bottom lip, her tongue battling against his.

 

They're pressed tightly together, but not close enough - it's not enough. There's fabric and skin and bones and blood between them where they should be one.

 

The Doctor presses closer still, harder, and he's shaking against the force of holding back. River arches into him, throwing her head back over the ledge of the podium and gasping his name in sharp, stuttering moans.

 

He presses one hand flat against the podium for leverage, the other curling tightly around River's hip, just under her skirt. Her hands slip under his collar to run across his back, but his shirt is caught around his arms and River huffs, lifting her head and dragging her fingers across his bared chest instead. Each touch burns and brands him and the Doctor never wants her to stop.

 

River's hips roll and grind up against his as they move faster together, reduced to gasping breaths and messy kisses as they drive each other higher, closer to the edge. River trembles against him at last, her hands slipping across his skin. He presses his forehead against hers and shifts his hand from her hip to her clit, rubbing through the slickness until River arches and cries out under him. The pleasure flares out of her and doubles against him, and his hips stutter against hers as he cries out and follows her, spilling into her as her mind spills into his and _finally_ , they're close enough.

 

Almost as soon as the moment is there, it's receding, lost to time. River lets her head fall back, shifting under him with a soft sigh. The Doctor comes back to himself shakily, darting out his tongue to taste the sweat at the hollow of River's throat before hastily withdrawing. He lifts his weight off River and steps back, offering his hand to help her down from the podium.

 

River licks her lips and squeezes his hand lightly as she starts to put her clothing to rights and assess the damage. "That's certainly one way to christen my new lectureship."

 

The Doctor tugs up his trousers, managing to get them fastened with only a little trouble. He slips on his braces, glancing up to smirk at River. "Yes, it is."

 

When she lifts her blouse to adjust her skirt, there's a rather obvious bruise on her back. The Doctor knows from firsthand experience that it's from the podium ledge. The sight of it immediately makes him want to undress her again, and he'd feel guiltier about that if River wasn't smiling entirely too knowingly as she crosses back toward him and easily admits, "Yes, it is."

 

Her hands fist in the undone collar of his shirt as she tugs him back into her, snogging him even as her deft fingers do up his buttons. The Doctor does his best to help, his tongue running against hers as his hands run along her sides, ostensibly smoothing her blouse and skirt.

 

There's an awkward squeak from the door, and they spring apart for the second time that day. The Doctor spins around, hand flailing uselessly for his sonic, which is likely discarded on the floor with his greatcoat.

 

There's a student just inside the main door, wide-eyed and obviously attempting to edge back out of it. She freezes under the Doctor's gaze, turning a truly brilliant magenta and seemingly unable to form words. The Doctor glances between the door and the student to the floor and his sonic, realizing with some horror that this door, unlike the one he'd become rather familiar with on his last visit to Luna University, is wood.

 

The silences stretches awkwardly, until River steps out from behind him, somehow completely dressed and looking cool and poised, even if her hair is something of a lion's mane around her head and her skin is still flushed. "Yes. Did you need something?"

 

The girl's eyes shift to River, and the Doctor takes the opportunity to bend and scoop up his coat, frantically trying to tuck in his shirt and do up his waistcoat, but he's already pulled his braces up and it's all something of a mess. He shoves his arms through his coat and wraps it around him determinedly, giving the rest up for lost. River will sort him out later.

 

The girl blinks. "I - uh - forgot my bag." She gestures helplessly toward the seats, where the Doctor can just make out an innocuous little pack, tucked under the seat and rather perfectly matching the current color of the girl's face.

 

"Of course," River nods, turning to collect her PDA and what few books and notes have not tumbled messily to the floor.

 

The girl scrambles rapidly across the seats, snatching up her bag and retreating with a muttered, "Thanks, Doctor Song." She slips back out the door without meeting their eyes.

 

The Doctor sinks back against the podium nervously, hands jammed in his pockets. "Wood," he mumbles in explanation, waving his sonic toward the door.

 

With a long-suffering sigh, River finishes shoving her lecture materials into her bag and rounds on him. He glances up at her hands on him, quickly putting his clothes to rights, and recognizes with some relief that she's clearly fighting back amusement. "Well, this is certainly one for the diary."

 

"Don't." It bursts out of him too fast and too honest and too terrified. And he steals his bowtie back from her and does it up himself to keep his hands busy and eyes away from hers.

 

River glances up at him, still amused and distracted as she runs her hands down her skirt and blouse one final time before glancing over her forgotten lecture notes, scattered across the stage. "What?" Her fingers dance through her hair, only succeeding in making it even bigger.

 

And suddenly he's just as hearts-broken as he was at the Singing Towers. In this moment, he never wants to let her go. He gathers River into his arms again, brushing those miraculous curls out of the way and kissing the top of her head. "River, oh, River, my River. Promise me something."

  
"Anything and everything, my love. You know that." River steps back to meet his gaze, but he hides his eyes under his fringe, looking away.

 

For a wrenchingly long minute, every fiber of his being cries out, begging her not to go to the Library. But the words get stuck behind the hole in his hearts and will not come out. To save her means he will never meet her. And he _knows_ that. Oh, he knows. But it doesn't make it any easier to bear.

 

He is silent for so long that River begins to look worried, her hands coming up to rest against his cheeks, turning him to face her. "Oh, my love. What is it?"

 

With a shaky motion, the Doctor tries to put himself back together again. "No, no. Nothing like that. Just. Don't write this down, River."

 

"What? Why?" She laughs. "Sweetie, you can't be serious."

 

His fingers clutch at her shoulders, even as hers run soothingly along his jaw. He has to swallow twice before he can get the words out and force himself to meet her eyes. "Please, River, I'm begging you. Just this once. Just for this. Do not write anything about this down. I know what I said. They're my rules, and I'm breaking them. It won't end the universe - I've checked. Just the two of us - nothing proscribed and timey-wimey and neither of us running out to get tea and turning back up half a century later. Just you and me, River, and our own little secret from ourselves."

 

River's brow crinkles into confusion and then concern. Then she pushes it all aside neatly, back in control even as he knows he's still falling apart. He's not sure that he can do this all over again, but how can he _not_? He's River's, and he'll claw and fight and beg for every moment he can steal with her, even if it tears him apart in the process.

 

It must still be showing on his face because River hastily reassures him, full of the casual flirtation that it's so easy for them to hide behind. "You hardly have to beg me to break the rules, sweetie. I can think of far better things to make you beg for." He opens his mouth, but River leans up on her tiptoes and shushes him with a soft kiss. "I won't write this down, Doctor. I promise."

 

"Good." He loosens his grip on her and feels suddenly fragile and foolish. River can read him too well and she's going to _know_ if he keeps throwing himself at her feet like the lovesick fool he is. He takes a step back and River lets him, her hands falling away from his face as he spins and takes in the chaos surrounding the podium. He takes one quick breath and then spins back, clapping his hands. "Right. First things first - let's see what we can do to tidy up this mess. And then, Doctor Song, I do believe we need to celebrate your first lecture!"

 

River glances meaningfully at the podium. "I thought we already had our celebration?"

 

The Doctor blushes and then straightens his newly retied bowtie. "That was just hello. For a proper celebration we're going out. Dinner? Dancing? Revolutions? Anywhere you want, dear!"

 

River bites her lip, grinning, and the earlier tension is mostly dissipated. "Anywhere?"

 

The Doctor swallows and nods, caught between nerves and excitement and the complete tingling thrill of running off on an adventure with his wife. She's going to pick someplace absolutely ridiculous - some coronation or beheading or restaurant that balances at the edge of an active volcano - and it is going to be absolutely brilliant. He can't wait.

 

...


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't end up falling into the volcano, though they do get thrown out of the restaurant quite literally. He blames the Sontaran battle-fleet also in attendance, though River arches one eyebrow and ribs him about forgetting that the restaurant was in Sontaran occupied space in this century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Becs for looking this over. All remaining mistakes are my own.

They don't end up falling into the volcano, though they do get thrown out of the restaurant quite literally. He blames the Sontaran battle-fleet also in attendance, though River arches one eyebrow and ribs him about forgetting that the restaurant was in Sontaran occupied space in this century.

 

He pouts, until River laughs and turns from the console to cheer him with a kiss. She's humming softly and in a positively celebratory mood. "At least you got the right century this time, sweetie - last restaurant we tried had yet to open and the one before that had been demolished a millennium previous. Spoilers - that may have been our doing. And really, dinner was lovely."

 

The Doctor's lips twitch up against his will. River's good mood is infectious, and he'd be a bigger idiot than he is to dwell on minor scheduling hiccups when he's got his wife in front of him for the first time in longer than he's prepared to admit to. "Even with the Sontarans glaring daggers at us the whole meal?"

 

"Oh yes," River grins up at him, unrepentant, "though they really ought to have known better than to try actual daggers. I was looking forward to dessert."

 

He wraps his arms around River and they sway gently to the hum of the TARDIS, back in the vortex and safely out of reach of angry Sontarans. He tactfully doesn't mention River's role in the dagger incident. "I'm sure we've something for dessert in the kitchens."

 

River disentangles herself from his arms, lacing his fingers with hers instead. "Or I could just have you for dessert."

 

The Doctor's hearts race at the suggestion, sending heat crawling over his skin. River is already walking them out of the console room, her hips swaying enticingly. He swallows, hard. "I think that could be arranged."

 

"Good."

 

He's entirely too distracted by her naughty smirk and wild hair and all those curves to realize where they're going until her hand is on the door. Their bedroom. The one he hasn't been in since he was last with her on Luna.

 

It looks exactly like she must have left it the last time this version of her was there - the TARDIS always favors River and never mind that he loses half his notes and books as the TARDIS shifts around timelines to accommodate his wife. The Doctor tries valiantly to hold on to that fleeting sense of outrage and wonder as he glances around their room, taking in the different journals and books and clothes scattered about. Anything to fight against the crushing wave of sorrow that weighs him down when he imagines how dusty and disused this room would be if it were the one in his personal timeline.

 

His fingers clench tightly around River's, and she turns to him, searching his face. He shuts his eyes and tugs her against him, breathing her in until the wave passes. Reminding himself that she is really, truly here.

 

River hums soothingly against him, her free hand carding through his hair. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

 

"Missed you," he blurts out, raw and wounded by the sight of her in their long lost bedroom. It's harder to hide from her, here. Harder to pretend that he's all right when the elation at seeing her and despair at losing her are busy warring in his hearts.

 

But River always knows. She presses closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and bestowing a kiss to the fabric over his left heart. "I'm here now."

 

 _It's not enough_. It doesn’t need to be said. They've both been married a long time from either perspective and they both know - they always miss each other and it's never enough time. And he is wasting it like a foolish old man, seeking out River's comfort for her loss when she's standing right in front of him.

 

The Doctor shakes off the melancholy and opens his eyes, tipping River's chin up for a soft, apologetic kiss. A kiss that quickly deepens, becoming decidedly less innocent. When the Doctor pulls back, resting his forehead against River's and tracing his thumb over her wrist, the solemn moment already tucked away. "Yes, you are. Here in our bedroom. And I believe I promised you dessert."

 

River's fingers trace his bowtie as she laughs, low and delighted and filthy. "Best get to it, husband. I'm positively famished."

 

They maneuver across the threshold of their room, lips and limbs already entangled and clothing rapidly disappearing. But when they tumble into their bed, their fingers are still laced together.

 

...

 

They make love on their own bed in the TARDIS, with breaks for actual dessert (River lets him have fish fingers and custard and even steals a few). They read to each other and debate Sontaran politics and River unearths her favorite pair of handcuffs.

 

Eventually though, River curls around him and falls into an exhausted sleep. She's probably worn herself ragged preparing for her lecture. The Doctor smiles fondly and runs his hands soothingly across her back until the creases at the corners of her eyes smooth and he knows that the nightmares are held at bay.

 

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't want to waste a single minute of their stolen time together. And it would be a waste to sleep, when he could be taking in the magical curl of her hair, the flutter of her eyelashes against his chest, the smooth dip of her waist, or the flawless skin of her back, Time Lord healing masking all the places it has knitted back together again and again.

 

He can't stay with her long. Time is already tugging at him, a sick, sinking pit between his hearts that tells him he cannot spend the year with her now. Just as her eyes had spoiled him on his last visit. He tells himself that the universe can give them a few days, and he shoves aside that wrenching, tugging feeling, holding River tighter and resisting the urge to wake her again. River deserves a moment of peace - he knows better than anyone that her sleep is often anything but peaceful.

 

When River wakes, she is full of sleepy innuendos to hide the shadow behind her eyes. He lets her kiss him and press him back into the bed instead of asking because he knows he's guilty of the same tactic, more than once. They're both hiding the damage from one another, and he doesn't dare call River out on hers when he cannot face his own.

 

Instead he meets her kisses fervently, sliding his hands across her back and hips as she rises over him and plants her hands over his hearts.

 

...

 

It's not until they're digging in the wardrobe for clothing, freshly scrubbed and almost sated, that he asks her what she wants to do next. "So, River, where to now?"

 

"You can just drop me back on Luna, sweetie."

 

The Doctor's hearts drop immediately. River's eyes stay fixed on the mirror, sizing up two different jodhpurs that both look as though they will be dangerously distracting, and he hopes she doesn't notice. Time presses in on him, so he grins in defiance of it and crowds her. "Nonsense. What's so important on Luna?"

 

"My job?" When he only gestures that away as not important, River sighs and meets his eyes in the mirror. "I need to find a place still, and I'd like to have that settled before I go tearing through another Sontaran battle fleet, my love."

 

He considers this for a long moment. Long enough that River glances down again, selecting the darker jodhpurs and shoving the others back onto a revolving rack of her clothes. He remembers her nerves in her lecture. Her surprise that he'd stayed when he'd shown up the last time. It's not rewriting really, just a little editing. "Don't I get a say in our new place?" He keeps his voice light and affronted to hide the thumping of his hearts.

 

"Our place?" River regards him nervously, but some of the creases at her eyes have dissipated again. "And will you be paying for your half with Roman ducats or credit chips, or were you just going to flash your psychic paper and hope for the best, as usual?"

 

The Doctor blushes and shuffles his feat, gesturing wildly. "Fine. Your place. So long as I have a key."

 

One of River's eyebrows arches, her hand settling distractingly on her bare hip. "I don't have a TARDIS key."

 

"You don't need a TARDIS key," he counters, and then bops River's nose. "We'll always let you in."

 

River scrunches up her nose, but now she's properly smiling and the sight is breathtaking, as always. "You'll never need a key either, Doctor."

 

He can't resist pouting slightly even though her locks at Luna do not require a physical key and he's always had access. He's suddenly ridiculously hopeful that he's always had access because he's _always_ had access. Because he goes with her now. "I never have a key to anything."

 

River gives him an incredulous look. "You always have at least one TARDIS key on your person, and I happen to know that you have at least two dozen more keys in your various coat pockets."

 

"That doesn't count," he mumbles, eyeing River through his fringe and watching her face morph into exasperated fondness. She knows perfectly well that he cannot remember what most of those keys belong to, or - even if he can, he's likely lost it. He shuffles his feet and refuses to admit to that.

 

"Fine," River rolls her eyes, shoving his trousers at him and pushing him toward his shirt rack. "You can have a key. But you're going to have to visit the open houses with me, and I don't want to hear one word about being bored!"

 

"Promise!" He kisses her boisterously, grinning as he pulls away to shove on his clothing.

 

As long as River brings him with her, he'd gladly tour every house on Luna, or go to the shops, or the other million little tasks he discovered the last time he stood still with her on the moon.

 

...

 

He dutifully trails around after her as they visit open houses and accost realtors. He bounces on the beds and fiddles with the appliances and generally tries to be as involved as possible in letting River know that none of these are The House.

 

For her part, River eyes him with a look that seems to simultaneously contain relief, gratefulness and annoyance. It makes him want to snog her. So he does, as often as possible, behind the realtor's back. Dragging her off to show her the garden or the kitchen or the roof terrace before anyone else notices their absence.

 

Of course, it is the very last house they visit. The Doctor rocks back on his heels, catching River's hand when he sees the not-blue door. "This one."

 

"Are you sure, sweetie?" Her voice is tinged with sarcasm, "You've not inspected every square meter to make sure that the TARDIS could park at your leisure."

 

He bops her nose for her sass and tucks her into his side, saying nothing.

 

River melts into him delightfully, swaying easily with him and regarding the house across the quiet street. Finally, she sighs, thoughtful. "The door will have to be blue."

 

And when he looks down at her in surprise, she is smiling up at him, just a touch hopeful and mischievous. How is he supposed to resist tugging her even closer and kissing her until they are breathless? "The bluest blue."

 

...


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They end up painting her new house. The Doctor sheds his tweed, rolls up his sleeves and dives in gamely enough. He's never exactly tried painting a house before, but how hard can it be, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the epically long wait for this chapter! In good news, I've taken the time to work across the fic, so I updated with an actual estimated chapter count (7 chapters per part, 3 parts; subject to slight change). Which means we're right about halfway through!
> 
> In recompense for taking so long, this one really is just fluff and smut, I swear.
> 
> Thanks to Becs for the beta and Megs for the reality check and ideas (brotp: purple paint 4ever!).

They end up painting her new house. The Doctor sheds his tweed, rolls up his sleeves and dives in gamely enough. He's never exactly tried painting a house before, but how hard can it be, really?

 

River laughs herself breathless when most of the paint ends up everywhere except on the wall he's been struggling with. That is, until he accidentally splatters paint on her hair. The look in her eyes sends him scrambling for safety, babbling apologies. "Now, that was an accident, River. An accident! I didn't - well, you know how clumsy I am and I'm sure the TARDIS will get it out and really, your hair looks lovely in vermilion, did I mention?"

 

Unfortunately, he stumbles backwards and only succeeds in pressing himself back against the still quite wet vermilion (well, partially) wall, while River advances mercilessly.

 

Very deliberately, River bends to dip her paintbrush into his pail, her eyes flashing fire. The Doctor gulps and squeezes his eyes closed. The thick bristles paint a long, wet stripe from his forehead to his trousers. When he dares to look, he is painted in a long line of red. He squawks indignantly as River gives in to laughter.

 

"I think red might be your color, Doctor," she teases, pleased with her retribution.

 

Well, that is hardly fair. River's only got a bit of paint in her hair, while he's nearly covered. "Really?" he muses, deliberately casual, "I've always thought it suited you better."

 

River catches on too late, her retreat slowed by her mirth. His arms are quite long and he catches her easily, pulling her struggling form into a full-body hug.

 

When River escapes, there's a matching stripe of red down her front. Her nose crinkles. "Oh, I hate you."

 

"No, you don't."

 

After that, it's full on war.

 

River launches a roller at him with deadly accuracy, sending it splooshing against his chest as she dashes away, still muffling her renewed laughter with her hand.

 

The Doctor scoops a handful of paint and gives chase. When he flings it at River the tips of her hair drip like flames as she shakes her head and glares at him.

 

River grabs the whole pail of blue in retaliation and launches it at the Doctor, paint streaming off his fringe and into his eyes.

 

The Doctor slicks his hair back with one paint-soaked hand, sputtering. "River - my shirt!" It's now completely soaked blue and red and several interesting variations of purple.

 

River shrugs, unrepentant, and doesn't let her guard down in the slightest. "Take it off then."

 

"If you insist, dear." The Doctor slides off his braces, thankful he'd thought not to wear his waistcoat, and scrambles to undo his buttons before tossing the paint-splattered fabric to the side, sending a silent prayer to the TARDIS that she can save it. He really is quite fond of all his shirts. He also takes the opportunity to grab his discarded paintbrush, flicking the wet bristles toward River.

 

The floor is slippery with paint as they chase one another around the empty flat. River's blouse is soon soaked, clinging wetly to her skin. The Doctor's bare chest is smeared with her tiny handprints.

 

He slips, scrambling away from her, and they both go down in a heap, upending the last pail as they fall - paint splashing over and around them.

 

River lands, dripping, across the Doctor's chest. "My turn," she says, voice low as she slides over him until she can shimmy out of her ruined top and throw it away. Her breasts are gloriously free and damp from the paint that bled through the thin fabric. She presses her bare chest against his, paint squelching between them.

 

The Doctor cannot keep his hands off her, sliding them across her wet skin and leaving tracks of paint in his wake. He wants to paint her, just like this - naked and uninhibited; laughter sparkling in her eyes.

 

River melts into his touch, all her token protests about the paint fading as his hands sweep across her back and ribs, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. "What are you painting?"

 

"You," he answers simply, engrossed in the reflection of her skin in the bright afternoon light, a warm contrast to the dark splatters of paint inked across her.

 

Making a pleased sound, River shifts in his arms until she is sitting astride him, her smile warm and eyes mischievous. "If you wanted me to sit nude for a portrait, Doctor, all you had to do was ask."

 

He continues drawing across her front, swirling the paint over her stomach, ribs, breasts, watching the way her breath hitches. "You're not fully nude," he points out absently, just to be contrary.

 

"Well, since you're asking." River slips from his grasp to stand over him as she reaches to undo her paint-streaked jeans.

 

The Doctor reclines back and tucks his hands under his head, watching her avidly as she shimmies out of the tight fabric and lifts her legs to step out of it. She's barefoot already, and only her knickers are left. River hooks her thumbs under the elastic before she halts, one eyebrow rising. "You too, Doctor."

 

He has become quite skilled at shedding clothing quickly, in a variety of unusual circumstances, thanks to River Song. Still, he is rather completely covered in paint, and his trousers are heavy and sodden as he wiggles out of them, toeing off his boots as he does so and never taking his eyes off of River.

 

"Watch the paint," she scolds as he starts to shove down his pants.

 

She's right, as always - his hands are positively covered in paint and he doesn't particularly fancy painting certain parts of himself by accident. The paint is a bit - drying. The Doctor wipes at his hands hastily on the outside of his pants, taking care not to cover himself with paint as he slips them off. "Yes, dear."

  
River is no help at all for his concentration as she drops her knickers and steps out of them, leaving all of their clothing in a messy pile at their feet. When she remains standing, the Doctor sits up to reach for her with hands that are dyed purple. "Come here."

 

"I thought you were going to paint me?" River teases, full of a frighteningly believable faux innocence.

 

His hands settle on her hips, not daring to dip lower, tracing across the muscles and bones under her skin. "Later," he promises, his voice coming out low and strained.

 

Dropping lithely to her knees, River settles astride his thighs, her small strong hands gripping his biceps for balance. "You had better not get paint anywhere it won't come out," she warns, her fingers tracing just ever so slightly above the paint marks he knows are covering his chest.

 

Shivering under her barely there touch, the Doctor swoops forward and captures River's lips in a slow, thorough kiss. His tongue sweeps into her mouth and his teeth tug at her lower lip, where he can taste the metallic and oily traces of paint.

 

Their upper bodies are already covered with paint, some already drying, rough against smooth skin. The Doctor lets his hands wander, sweeping across River's body and smudging all his earlier work with his eager grasp.

  
River keens, shifting forward to press her whole body against his, her fingers sliding across his back and his cock trapped between them. The Doctor shudders, rocking against her, a plaintive noise escaping his throat.

 

Both their hands are covered in paint now, but his have mostly dried. The Doctor slips one hand between them, stroking lower until his fingers slide through River's damp curls and his thumb can circle her clit.

 

River startles at the contact, breaking their kiss and arching back in pleasure. "Doctor," she whinges, her nails digging into his back.

 

It's hard to tell if she's chastising him or demanding more or a bit of both, with the way she drags out his name. But the change of position gives him more room to work, pressing soft kisses across her neck as he traces the swirls of paint across her breasts with his free hand, pausing to roll her nipples between his thumb and forefingers before starting the pattern over.

 

He speeds the motions of his fingers at her clit, pressing the bundle of nerves a little harder with each rotation. His cock is hard and leaking, pressed between them, with just enough friction to tease. The Doctor has to remind himself that he can't simply lift River onto his length or even twist his wrist and press two fingers into her tantalizing wetness. Her breath hitches with harsh moans and he just wants to be inside her, to feel her come apart inside out.

 

With a low growl, the Doctor lifts his head from her neck until he can kiss her again. It's possessive and desperate this time, wet and sloppy as River gasps against his mouth and bites down on his lip just hard enough to hurt. He lets her, thrusting his tongue against hers and pressing harder at her clit, desperate to make her fall apart.

 

River's hand catches his wrist as she rises to her knees, shifting until her wetness slides over his cock, just the barest brush of sensitive flesh.

 

The Doctor groans, wrenching his mouth free of her talented tongue and sharp teeth. "I thought -" He's not even certain he manages to ask a question, rendered nearly incoherent already, but River seems to understand anyway.

 

"Not every part of you is covered in paint, sweetie." She lifts her hands to the side and regards them, letting out a frustrated huff. "Hands?" When the Doctor holds his up, River shakes her head, and he thinks she'd roll her eyes in a less intimate moment. "Well, that does present some difficulties. And there aren't even handcuffs this time."

 

His hands are still purple, wet again from her sweat and sex. River's are speckled with more discrete reds and blues, but clearly wet from running across his skin. "I'm sure there's a pair in my coat, if you fancy a challenge," he counters, waggling his eyebrows.

 

"I don't have the patience to tie you up right now, Doctor," River laughs, ending with a bit of whinge as she rubs her sex over him again to underscore her impatience.

 

The Doctor settles his hands at River's hips to steady her as they maneuver to the right angle. River's hands grip his shoulders as she slowly sinks down over him, engulfing him inch by inch in the tight, molten heat of her. The Doctor rests his head at her shoulder, fighting against the urge to thrust up and drag her down against him all at once. His fingers dig into her hips probably too hard, and he has to force himself to loosen them. At last, she takes him all the way inside, so deep that he feels light headed.

 

River moans appreciatively, rocking her hips forward in a smooth motion as she clenches him tightly with well-honed muscles. The Doctor makes a strangled noise in reply, his teeth closing over her neck. He soothes the wound with his tongue as River shivers, a hitch to her rhythm.

 

River is rarely one to go slow, and she quickly increases the pace. Rising fluidly over him and taking him in again and again, their bodies sliding together, slick with sweat and paint. She plays his body expertly, drawing him into her so that he is helpless but to rock his hips up to meet her every downward thrust, his hands tight at her hips, trying to drag her just a little closer every time.

 

Paint drips from their hair and into his eyes, forcing him to lift his head. He wants to watch River like this anyway - her strength and beauty brought out by the soft intimacy she allows in their moments together. A side of River he knows he's the only one to see. He wants to treasure each of these rare, happy moments. To burn them into his memory.

 

River smiles at him, one of her hands releasing its grip on his shoulder to bop his nose. "You look like Rudolph."

 

It takes him a moment to catch on - he's too distracted by the feel of River moving over him to focus on obscure human-y references. Caught off guard by the ease of the way she steals his favorite gesture of love. His nose is red, he belatedly realizes - and probably most of his face - from the paint dripping off the ends of her hair. "It's your fault," he accuses.

 

His fringe has fallen into his face again. He imagines his nose will be purple in a minute, and the rest of him besides. Since his hands are occupied, River reaches forward in a tender gesture that belies the intensity of their coupling and slicks his hair back, her fingers catching in paint-glued strands.

 

"You started it."

 

She is flushed and glorious and he wonders if he should mention how much paint is on her face. Probably not, he decides. "'You started it,' really?"

 

River twists her hips in a way that momentarily robs him of speech. The look in her eyes says she's well aware of that fact. "Yes, sweetie. And, if you'd like me to finish, you'd do well to shut up."

 

The Doctor presses quick kisses to her lips in apology as she moves over him, and there's really no need to say anything else. He does anyway, of course, "Oh, I very much want to see you finish."

 

River mumbles something insulting against his lips, but he kisses her until she stops talking with a sigh, her body tense and trembling against his.

 

She's close, still on edge from his fingers, and grinding her clit hard against him with every downward stroke. The Doctor pries a hand free of her hips to wrap around her back, running his fingertips along her spine before splaying his hand and pressing her closer. River's hips jolt, the change in angle catching that perfect spot inside her, and the Doctor tightens his grip and drives up into her harder, deeper, until she loses her rhythm completely, clinging to him as she finally comes apart.

 

The feel of her pulsing and clenching around him is enough to send the Doctor right after her, his hips thrusting one last time before the heat and pleasure coalesces into one blinding moment of bliss as he spills inside her.

 

They disentangle slowly. Trading lazy, glancing kisses as the urgency wanes and fades into a sated afterglow. The Doctor slowly lies back, taking River with him to rest on his chest. His hand is still caught in her hair, a mass of frizz and knots and paint, and still the most glorious thing he's ever seen. He separates out the curls and works his fingers through the knots absently, his other hand stroking across River's back until he can see the patterns of paint in his mind.

 

River shifts off her knees and to his side, so she can curl around him with her head resting against his chest, humming contentedly. She's either forgotten about the paint or given it up as a lost cause. Her knees and shins are blue, and his handprint is purple on her hips, which he hopes is paint and not bruising.

 

"Shower." Her voice is muffled against his chest.

 

The Doctor makes a noise of agreement. They're sticky and sweaty and absolutely covered in paint, but he's in no hurry to move so long as River is draped across him. If only he truly controlled time, he would stop it, right here. Their own bubble universe: just the two of them, just in this moment. At length, River's eyelashes flutter closed, tickling his skin, her breathing evening.

 

He slides his shirt under River's head to use as a pillow when he's certain she's asleep, draping his coat over her as a blanket and hoping that the paint is mostly dry. She makes a soft noise of displeasure before curling into his coat, the crease in her forehead softening, and the Doctor's hearts lurch at the sight.

 

Always well prepared for alien invasions or the Doctor's clumsiness, River had bought extra paint. It takes a bit of work to get the paint sorted without waking River, but he manages.

 

The Doctor was careful to make sure River picked the paint on her own, spoilers lingering behind his lips. It's such a small thing, but he wants River's house to be her own. He's missed so much of her life here and he wants so desperately to be a part of it now, but he knows that's not fair. He doesn't want her to paint the accent wall red just because the vermilion reminds him of her lipstick or her shoes from the first time this face saw (and felt) her - her shoes that are tucked up neatly in his side of the wardrobe, hidden amongst his hats. But River picks the color herself with a saucy wink and bright red smile and the Doctor's hearts lift in response.

 

While River is sleeping, he painstakingly finishes their painting, using his memories of her house to guide him. He just wants everything to be perfect. He doesn't want River to huff and glare in the way she does when she's regretting ever letting him out in public.

 

And then, once the boring standard old walls are done, the Doctor paints her. Across a wall he knows will house a bookshelf, in bold strokes of purples, blues, reds, the Doctor paints River as she rose above him, carnal but peaceful, powerful and beautiful in equal measure. He paints her so that he won't forget. Not the curve of her hips or the sweat that beaded between her breasts. Not the way her eyes sparkled with laughter or the way her hair caught fire in the light. He may never look at it again, but it will have to be enough to know that she's there. Real, tangible, alive.

 

"Doctor?"

 

"Here, River," he is just finishing mopping the last of the visible paint from the floors when she wakes.

 

Clutching his coat to her as she sits up, River glances around the room wide-eyed. "When did you do all this?"

 

The Doctor shrugs, fidgeting and suddenly nervous that she won't like it after all but maybe just feels obligated to keep it. "You needed to rest."

 

"So you finished all the painting by yourself?!" One of River's eyebrows is nearing her hairline in her incredulity.

 

He plops down next to her on the floor and bops her paint-covered nose, watching her wrinkle it extra when the paint stretches at the movement. She looks particularly fetching in violet. "It wasn't all that difficult really, once I got the hang of it. Just like painting the TARDIS, really."

 

River's kiss is surprising in its enthusiasm, her body warm and sleepy against his as his coat slips between them. Dried paint flecks off their bodies and swirls in the air. When they part, her eyes focus on her painting, and she is silent for long enough that the Doctor fidgets nervously. "Oh, sweetie, you utter sentimental idiot." Her voice is soft and pleased and it doesn't sound like an insult at all. "Is that how you see me?"

 

The Doctor glances between the painting and River, tracing his hands over her arms. "You wanted a portrait." He teases before kissing her again and admitting, "I've tried before, you know, but I can never seem to get it quite right. It's all the hair, I think - defies the laws of nature."

 

"It's beautiful." River reassures him, cutting him off before he can launch into a proper ode to her hair. She stares thoughtfully at the painting before arching one eyebrow. "Though it's a little risqué for the dining room. I suppose dinner guests will eventually adjust."

 

Sputtering at the idea of dinner parties under the naughty glare of his naked wife, the Doctor hastily offers, "Bookshelf."

 

"I don't know," River muses, climbing to her feet and offering him a hand up, "I kind of like it."

 

" _River_!"

...


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next lecture he sits in on, the Doctor puts his hands behind his head, sprawls out, and simply glories in River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who is still patiently following this story. I'm working ahead a bit, and hoping to get on a better schedule soon for posting. I just had a big exam for school which pretty much demolished my time and ability to write for a while, but this one sneaked through anyway, thankfully!
> 
> This chapter is another rather explicit one. Enjoy the fluff.
> 
> Thanks to Becs for looking it over, as always.

The next lecture he sits in on, the Doctor puts his hands behind his head, sprawls out, and simply glories in River. In watching her. In listening to her. He is more relaxed than he can remember being in far too long, and he is content to muse sleepily on her lecture notes without comment. It's amazing what few days in bed (well, when they made it to the bed) with his wife can do for his mood. He's rather forgotten that.

 

The students around him keep glancing between him and River, seemingly torn between their notes and the Time Lord stretched out in the front row, blithely not taking any notes at all.

 

He ignores them. He does not care in the slightest that they're busy trying to puzzle him out when they should be focusing on the carefully selected artifacts and accompanying explanations. River peppers her stories with references to their adventures that are innocuous enough for the listening students but leave him basking in memories of picnicking under solar flares and fighting Cybermen.

 

Admittedly, he should probably be a little concerned that he has fond memories of the Cybermen, especially given his last entirely too close encounter, but they've rather become his and River's pet monster over the centuries. They've certainly defeated them more times together than either of them ever has apart. And, at the moment, he's feeling just a bit too content to be bothered. His focus is on his wife. Neither students nor Cybermen are going to interrupt that.

 

Of course, his memories quickly take a more explicit turn, as any adventure with River is wont to do. The Doctor crosses his legs and shifts his coat over his lap as his languor fades, replaced with a growing desire to drag River right back to their new bed. He really shouldn't be entertaining such thoughts in the middle of her lesson but, as with everything else related to River, he finds that _really shouldn't_ quickly becomes _can't resist_.

 

He manages to drag himself back to the present with some effort before he gets too carried away by fantasies, just in time for the lecture to let out. The Doctor smiles pleasantly and forces himself to stay just as he is, lest he be tempted to act on any of those fantasies before the auditorium has emptied. His limbs tend to have a mind of their own when it comes to River and his need to be as close to her as possible as often as possible.

 

Students mutter as they go around the other side or leap awkwardly over his crossed legs, but he keeps his eyes on his wife and ignores the rumors swirling across the auditorium.

 

River avoids so much as glancing at him until the last student has left, but he can hardly blame her. For all her teasing and bravado, he knows she'd been half-convinced she'd be sacked before this lecture after the wooden door incident at the end of the last.

 

He watches her put up her notes. "Have they assigned you an office yet?"

 

"Not yet," River sighs. "There's some red tape to sort through still, I believe. Why?"

 

She looks up and finally meets his eyes and it's all he can do to keep himself still and in his seat.

 

"You should lock the door."

 

River sets down the last of her papers very deliberately, and he can see the wicked smirk she tries to bite back. "Oh, really? And what makes you think I'd do that, after last time?"

 

He raises one eyebrow, incredulous. "What, we get caught once, and all of a sudden River Song is playing by the rules?"

 

"Not in the slightest, sweetie. I'm just surprised at your willingness to disregard them." She jogs up the stairs to lock the door before turning and regarding him from where he's craned his neck to follow her path. "Now what?"

 

"Come here."

 

River laughs, delighted at his audacity, and takes a much slower path back toward him, swaying her hips and teasing, "My, someone has grown up; haven't you, Doctor?"

 

As soon as she's close enough, he lets his relaxed pose fall away in favor of tugging her into his lap. "You have no idea," he murmurs into the skin of her neck.

 

Her skirt rides up as she settles across his lap, and he runs one hand appreciatively over her bared legs before trailing them higher, across the banded fabric until he can untuck her blouse. River has always been one to dress up for occasions, and he is quite fond of her Professor attire. Really, he's fond of anything she wears though, so perhaps he's a bit biased.

 

The Doctor rests one hand at the small of River's back, under her blouse and against her heated skin as he strokes his other hand across River's thighs until he can slip under her skirt and work his way back up.

 

"You can't keep staying after the lesson, Doctor. I'm sure the whole class already thinks we're sleeping together," River cautions, even as her thighs fall open to give him room.

 

"We are," the Doctor points out reasonably, enjoying River's annoyed slap to his chest, even though River always hits hard.

 

"Can't you at least wait until we get back to our lovely little flat? They really might sack me if they think I'm dating a student." Her voice is a touch breathy as he hooks a finger under the elastic of her knickers and starts to tug them down.

 

"First off, you're not dating a student. I'm not on the roster and last I checked, River Song, we are very much married. As for making it back to the flat - it's too far away. You - I spend half the lecture imagining what I want to do with you when I get you alone. Hard not to, really, remembering just exactly what we got up to during some of your digs." He drags River's knickers down her thighs as he talks. She shifts in his lap, lifting her legs so that he can pull them all the way off. He tries to discretely tuck them into his pocket.

 

"Impatient," River accuses with an amused smirk that says he's caught out, and he can feel the blush spreading up his neck and face. "But then again, patience has never been our strong suit. Still doesn't explain you staying late two lectures in a row." She's keeping up the argument mostly to be contrary.

 

The Doctor taps his fingers against her spine in reproach, but both of them are far too distracted by his other hand, fingers trailing slowly back up River's legs, one at a time, stopping just at the crease of her thigh each time and enjoying the way her breath hitches with his light touches. "I'm reviewing the material."

 

Making a frustrated noise, River shifts one leg over the arm of the chair and parts her legs blatantly. "You already know the material." The Doctor raises his eyebrows and strokes one finger through her wet folds, and River groans around a gasp. "Oh, that's terrible."

 

"You're a terrible influence." He agrees, spreading River open with light, teasing strokes. "I shall have to file a formal complaint to the Dean."

 

River shifts on his lap, eyebrow winged. "You are welcome to review me any time you like, sweetie."

 

Instead of responding, the Doctor drags his index finger toward her entrance, just dipping inside as his thumb brushes across her clit. River makes a needy, keening sound that reverberates through to his bones. So he does it again, stroking through her folds and pausing just before he presses inside her, his thumb making lazy circuits around her clit before he retreats to stroke the soft, smooth skin of her thighs instead.

 

He soothes her with soft kisses against her neck as River digs her fingers into his shoulders, her breath coming fast and sharp and their conversation forgotten.

 

No, he's not normally a patient man. But for River - oh, he could - and has - spent hours between her thighs before. It's impossible to resist the lure of her body, the little noises she tries to bite back and the heady knowledge that River lets him take his time despite her own clear impatience.

 

When he finally slides one finger into her wet depths, River has to bite her lip to stifle a moan. The Doctor lifts his head to kiss her instead, rescuing her injured lip and running his tongue gently across it.

 

River clutches him to her, her mouth needy against his own. The Doctor takes his time, working her up and then pulling back again, caught up in the keening, demanding sounds River feeds into his mouth as her hips arch futilely toward his retreating fingers.

 

She huffs when they part for air the third time he works her just to the edge with his fingers, stopping just when he feels her start to tighten around him. His thumb continues to tease her clit, just light, intermittent circles across sensitive nerves - not enough to tip her over the edge.

 

"Trust me?" he asks, stroking his other hand soothingly across her back as he adds a second finger with slow, lazy thrusts.

 

"Always," she breathes, her voice hitching as his thumb catches her clit again.

 

He shouldn't ask that of her. But he'd be a better man than he is to resist her complete faith in him, especially because River knows exactly what kind of man he is. A liar. Selfish. And never more so than for her.

 

The Doctor works her up twice more, until River is trembling against him, her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat that leaves her blouse clinging to her. He ducks his head to lick at the hollow of her neck, tasting her, and River whimpers.

 

When she bends her head to demand another kiss, the Doctor acquiesces easily. He brings his hand from her back to tangle in her hair, holding her to him greedily, their tongues clashing messily as River struggles to catch her breath.

 

The Doctor curls his fingers up, increasing the speed of his thrusts and catching the spot that makes River gasp against his mouth. Her hands grab his hair, tugging, nails digging into his scalp.

 

He can feel her hearts racing and her muscles clenching. The Doctor finally brings his thumb back to River's clit, sliding across the needy nub with firm, rapid strokes as he presses his fingers deeper, harder inside her.

 

River screams when she comes, the sound muffled by his lips, insistent against her own. She falls apart brilliantly, her whole body shaking as a new rush of wetness soaks his hands, her inner muscles squeezing his fingers and her hands tugging sharply at his hair. He holds her to him and works her through it until he knows River must be nearly breathless, and only then does he let her pull away, gasping.

 

The Doctor wipes his fingers on the inside of River's skirt as he helps her shift her leg off the chair arm and pulls her skirt down. His other hand strokes through her hair and across her back as River catches her breath. He presses a chaste kiss to her lips, cradling her in his arms.

 

River's hands slide shakily to rest at his shoulders, and her lips seek out his, nothing chaste at all in the clash of tongues and teeth. The Doctor groans, reminded of his own, quite pressing need for her.

 

With a pleased hum against his mouth, River twists in his arms somehow and manages to slide her knees on either side of his hips, wedged against the arms of the narrow chair so that she is kneeling over him. Her hands slide to his trousers and River has them undone and is shoving them down with alacrity before he even realizes what she's doing. "Off," she breathes against his lips, her voice a low purr.

 

The Doctor hurries to comply, lifting his hips and shoving at his trousers and pants, and nearly falling off the chair before he remembers to plant his feet firmly against the floor.

 

River wastes no time. As soon as his trousers are around his thighs, she's wrapping one hand around his cock and guiding him inside her as she sinks down over him. Her inner walls flutter and clench around him, tight and sensitive from her recent orgasm, and the Doctor makes a choked noise, struggling not to come immediately at the silky hot feel of her.

 

There's not much room to maneuver, pressed so close together and with the damnably small chair hindering them. The Doctor scoots to the edge of the chair and wraps his arms around River's back, pressing her close as their hips rock in short, careful motions.

  
River's breasts are crushed against his chest, her arms draped over his shoulders to steady them on the back of the chair. Staring into her green eyes, flecked with gold and blue and blown dark in the wake of their pleasure, the Doctor finds the position intensely intimate, despite the fact that they are nearly fully dressed.

 

They've forgotten about being quiet at some point. Both of them gasping and moaning, the only sounds echoing through the large, empty hall.

 

He's going to come too quickly like this, his whole body already tight with pleasure and buried deep inside River as she clenches around him. "River -" and her name might be a whimper, the rest of his question lost to the rotation of her hips.

 

" _Yes_."

 

And River always knows because she answers his question anyway, bending to kiss him, the slight shift in position leaving them both desperate for each other.

                                                                      

He clenches one hand at her hip, dragging her down harder against him and relishing the tiny sounds that River tries to mask with her breathing and his lips. Her rhythm doesn't falter, even when he brings his other hand around to press hard against her clit.

 

She clenches around him and gives a cry against his mouth, and the Doctor is gone, thrusting up into her with abandon. The tight pressure thrums through his body and explodes as he spills inside her, his vision fading with the force of it.

 

The Doctor's hands shake as he wraps them back around River, their bodies still joined. River uses her grip on the back of the chair to keep them from falling, and the Doctor hurries to scoot up without actually separating them.

 

River lets her head rest on his shoulder, her breath stilted against his neck and her thighs trembling still over his.

 

"You really should put in for a not-wooden door," the Doctor muses when he has the breath to speak, voice low and croaky, wondering if that's exactly how the door comes to be replaced in the future. "It's safer. Anything can get through wood."

 

He can feel River roll her eyes even though her head is still pressed against his neck. She turns her head enough so that her voice is not muffled. "I'm hardly far enough in my tenure to be demanding they upgrade the accommodations. And anything, except your sonic. Why don't you just add a wood setting?"

 

It's a bit of a sore spot, and River knows it. A wood setting would actually be quite useful, more often than not. But he's not been able to get it to work, which River knows perfectly well. "I'd have to devote two whole wavelengths to wood," he grumbles against the warm feeling of contentment curling through his spine as he runs his hands along River's sweat-slicked back. "It does metal and electronics and nearly everything. No point in giving all that up just for wood." He eyes the frustrating wooden door balefully. Wood on the moon. Not nearly as catchy as Judoon on the moon. "Hang on - where'd they even get wood for the door?"

 

"Ah, but how will you build cabinets?" River teases comfortably, and he knows she's just been ribbing him to get him worked up. "And they had it specially grown. It's all very posh, I'm sure." She shifts finally, regretfully, lifting herself off him and sliding her legs to the floor.

 

"It's a safety hazard," the Doctor mutters, steadying her as she stands.

 

River manages to arch one eyebrow, glancing between him and the door even as she wobbles slightly in her heels and struggles to tug her skirt over her thighs. "It's safe as houses - not even you can get in."

 

The air is cool against sensitive skin, now that his lap is not full of a very warm River. Once he's certain she's got her footing, the Doctor moves to tuck himself away, though there's not much to be done for the mess she's made of his trousers and coat sleeve. "Are you trying to keep me out of your house, Doctor Song?"

 

River just sighs, clearly coming to the same conclusion that there is no way they're anywhere near decent. She unbuttons her cuff to reveal her vortex manipulator. The Doctor makes a face of disgust at the very suggestion, and River sighs again. "Maybe we should just park the TARDIS here cloaked. It would be closer."

 

Grumbling that it's not a very appropriate use of the TARDIS, the Doctor takes River's offered hand, their fingers lacing together as they stand. He rests his other hand atop the vortex manipulator, turning to kiss River again, his senses lost in her.

 

They're still entwined when they appear in their bedroom in her flat, the rough currents of the time vortex falling away and leaving them jarred and tangled together until it's hard to remember they were ever separate.

 

The Doctor squeezes River's hand and doesn't mind at all.

 

…


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can only stay a week before the weight of stolen time starts to bend and distort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly fluff, I swear. No, really.
> 
> Thanks to Becs for the beta and to Beverly for looking this over.

He can only stay a week before the weight of stolen time starts to bend and distort. Any longer and River will feel the ripples - her sense of time isn't quite as attuned as his, but she's still Time Lord. He aches with longing for their year together - still only a balm against the agony of the long, lonely years without her.

 

He's been trying to hide it, of course. It seems one of them is always having to hide the damage from the other, no matter how much he tries to fix that - fix them. But then there's never enough time and what time they have always ends up hurting one or the other of them.

 

A week. They've had adventures in a single night that have lasted longer, depending on the perspective.

 

Still, the Doctor reminds himself frantically, it's something. These rare moments with his wife are worth the long years of her absence. For one day with River, he would gladly burn up the rest of his days. They seem so dull without her anyway. Oh, there are worlds to save and people to meet and it's all running and getting caught up in adventures. On the outside, he's the same old Doctor.

 

On the inside, he finally feels his age. Bones weighted down by time and hearts heavy with loss.

 

He tries desperately to shake off the madness that lies behind that thought. The fear that each moment with River might be the last. He doesn't want to taint another of their times together with his open wounds. So he grins and suggests absolutely mad things and keeps her up all night in his arms because he is too selfish to let her sleep.

 

Bless his wife, she lets him. Even though he's clearly running from those quiet moments that ache with loss, she merely runs right alongside him.

 

Arms wrapped securely around River, the Doctor buries his face in her curls and breathes her in - breathes this moment in.

 

River presses her lips over his racing pulse, soft and lingering. "I need to shower and revise my lectures notes. I'm going to be hopelessly unprepared today."

 

The last is a bit pointed, and the Doctor can't help but feel a little guilty. He's absolutely the reason she hasn't had any time to prep her lecture. "You'll be brilliant. You always are." He nuzzles his nose into her hair, voice muffled by its multitudes. It's amazing she can hear anything at all, really, under all that hair.

 

River huffs, her breath hot against his skin. "Easy for you to say, Doctor. Not all of us can give impromptu lectures on subparticle quantum mechanics of supernovae at a moment's notice."

 

"Spoilers," he mumbles, her hair dancing across his lips and tongue.

 

He would know she was rolling her eyes even if he couldn't feel the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin.

 

River drops another kiss across his throat and then she is gone, breaking his grip easily and sliding out of their bed before he can even begin to go after her.

 

The Doctor flops back down into the suddenly chilled room, his skin racing hot and cold in her absence.

 

Pausing just over the threshold to the en-suite, River lets her eyes trace over him, smirking. "Chin up, sweetie." He scowls at any reference to that particular part of his anatomy, and River smirks. "I never said you couldn't join me."

 

"I thought I was a distraction." But he's already freeing himself from the rest of the sheets and leaping out of bed after her, looping his arms around her waist and tugging her back into him. Their skin is still sweaty and warm and, really, a shower does sound lovely.

 

River tips her head back to look up at him, her curls pressed, tickling, against his bare chest. "What can I say? I like to live dangerously."

 

He drops a kiss to her nose. "Lecturing on the 21st century without a lesson plan? Oh, you bad, bad girl."

 

River's laugher is light and warm, chasing away the chill.

 

...

 

River insists that they arrive to her lectures separately.

 

He hates it.

 

Hates watching her disappear around a corner or closed door as though it might be the last time. Impatient, the Doctor stalks the university halls and only manages to wait until the first student has entered before he is rushing into River's lecture hall and claiming his seat in the front row. He knows he's pouting a bit.

 

So does River, judging by the slight roll of her eyes when she sees him scurry in.

 

The other students filter in slowly, dragging their heels when they should be tripping over themselves in their eagerness to hear River's lectures - he knows he certainly is.

 

The wait for the students to arrive feels nearly intolerable. River pointedly does not look at him - ostensibly reviewing her lesson plan, her head bent over the podium as she reads, curls tumbling in front of her face.

 

The Doctor gets caught up watching the flutter of those curls, twisting and bouncing in the still moon air with River's every movement. They seem to steal the light in the room, absorbing it for themselves, those magical curls that seem to be made of the time vortex itself.

 

He's so caught up that he doesn't realize the students have settled and quieted until River speaks.

 

"Today there will be a brief exam," she announces, pulling out a sheaf of papers and moving toward the front row to hand them out. "Since this is an archaeology lecture, I want you to try to imagine how people lived in the 20th century. Starting with putting away your electronics and taking the exam as they might've done."

 

River strides forward and begins to pass out papers and pencils to the front rows. Her eyes meet the Doctor's as she very pointedly hands him a copy of the exam. Actual paper, though he doubts the students will realize. At the end of the row, she hands along the rest of the stack with instructions for the students to pass it back themselves.

 

The Doctor grins, twirling the pencil and tapping it against his knee as he waits while the rest of the students are shuffling about to put away their PDAs. Only, he taps too hard and the pencil snaps in half with a crack, the pointy end falling somewhere between the seats and promptly rolling off. It's the 51st century - none of the other students have a spare and the stack of pencils and papers is well at the back of the hall by now. He catches River's eye but she does not waver from her firm, challenging look. Right. He must have a pen or a pencil or _something_ in his pockets somewhere. Perhaps in the third sublevel?

 

Only when he reaches in to start digging through his pockets, hoping something to write with is relatively recent, the first thing that happens to tumble out is River's knickers. He'd forgotten he'd tucked them away in there after her last lecture.

 

He tries to shove them back in nonchalantly, but of course he fumbles, already blushing, and they fall to the floor.

  
The students nearest to him look up at his startled squeak, eyeing the tiny blue scrap of satin and lace with sudden interest.

 

Even River blushes, eyes wide, and quickly looks away.

 

It's too late. The Doctor glances about and meets the wide-eyed but knowing gaze of the girl with the forgotten backpack. She immediately turns away, hand over her mouth to hide a whisper, and suddenly the lecture hall is awash in waves of muffled sound, trailing like sheet music through the audience and spreading like wildfire.

 

River's blush quickly hardens into irritation, her eyes flashing with that delicious fire that promises him retribution for embarrassing her. "Everyone, quiet, please. Unless you would all like failing marks on your exam."

 

The chatter ceases immediately under River's hard glare. She may be a new lecturer, but there is no mistaking the quiet menace of her threat for a bluff. As the students at least pretend to go back to their exam, heads bent over their papers, River settles the weight of her gaze on the Doctor. "You should leave."

 

She's properly cross with him, eyes flashing and jaw clenched. But there is a hint of fond exasperation in the slight shake of her head as she moves closer, just in front of him, watching him with crossed arms as he hastily rescues her knickers. His River, ready to throttle him and at the same time doing her level best not to laugh. And most of all, so very, very alive. She is going to kill him all over again and he's never loved her more.

 

His bespoke psychopath.

 

His wife.

 

"Marry me!" It bursts out in a swell of feeling and he recognizes that it is probably the most inopportune time to be asking ever. Worse timing than even their first marriage, and all of time and history was collapsing at that point.

 

The room goes perfectly quiet, the scratching of pencils on paper ceasing instantly.

 

River blinks, startled, and bursts out in exasperation, "Doctor, have you suffered head damage? We're already married." There's no point in playing coy anymore.

 

"Marry me again." When River just laughs, he drops to his knees, stealing her hand. "River, I'm serious. Marry me." He can't stand the idea of her students assuming the worst of River - that they're involved in some torrid little affair. Mostly, he doesn't want River to ever regret marrying him, not even for a moment.

 

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is wide and gorgeous. "Always, Doctor."

 

And he doesn't care if it's their thirtieth wedding or their first, he will always lose his breath at the depth of love reflected in her eyes. The Doctor grins, leaping to his feet and dragging River closer. "Let's go!"

 

River bites her lip, amused and incredulous. "Now?!"

 

He grins back, impatient, caught up in her hair and her smile and her eyes and how incredibly lucky he is to have her as his wife. "Yes, now! There's a lunar chapel near, isn't there? Or, oh - I've always wanted to get married in zero gravity, although, I suppose the helmets might complicate matters. Mars, then - under the red sky and -"

 

Leaning in closer still, River licks her lips and cuts him off in the middle of considering whether they ought to take the TARDIS instead and go to the Star Moons of the Acropolis. "What about my students?"

 

He'd forgotten about them the second he got caught up in River's eyes. If he strains now, he can hear them listening in, rapt. He grins at River, and pretends to consider the matter. "They've already failed their exam, haven't they? Might as well let them out of it."

 

Neither of them have bothered to quiet their voices and the students let out a startled little gasp at the reminder of River's threat.

 

They're so close now, he can count the flecks of gold in River's eyes, feel her breath against his lips. River answers without moving or looking away, her voice overly loud to address her class. "Today's lecture is cancelled. Apologies for my husband, he does tend to enjoy dramatic gestures. I do suggest that you all revise before our next lesson, and we can try your exam again without so many disruptions."

 

There is a moment more of shocked silence before the students hurry to gather their things and leave their exams before River changes her mind. It's probably not the impression River was hoping to make, but at least they don't think she's sleeping with a student any longer. Probably.

 

"Are they gone?"

 

River bites her lip, still only a breath between them. "I ought to be terribly cross with you."

 

There's no movement in the hall, and the students are definitely gone. The Doctor runs his thumb over the soft skin of River's hand, still caught in his. "Are you?"

 

"Oh, when have I ever done anything I ought to, husband?"

 

They lean forward as one, closing the distance between them for a tender kiss, full of promise. He lingers after, his lips drawn back to River's again and again. "Well then, wife. Let's get hitched." He doesn't really care how or where - just so long as River is still mad enough to marry him.

 

River rolls her eyes, squeezing his hand. His wife.

 

"I can't wait to explain this to the Dean."

 

...


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only gets a handful of days with her the next trip, and he knows he'll be lucky to manage more than one the next. Each visit is shorter. Not noticeably so; not enough that River has caught on. But each time he opens the TARDIS doors at Luna, he feels the claustrophobic weight of their stolen time more acutely. It is heavy and hard to ignore, and eventually he has to give in and leave her, though it nearly kills him to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fluff and smut and angst, all in one.
> 
> Thanks to Becs and Beverly for looking this chapter over.

He only gets a handful of days with her the next trip, and he knows he'll be lucky to manage more than one the next. Each visit is shorter. Not noticeably so; not enough that River has caught on. But each time he opens the TARDIS doors at Luna, he feels the claustrophobic weight of their stolen time more acutely. It is heavy and hard to ignore, and eventually he has to give in and leave her, though it nearly kills him to do so.

 

He swallows back the guilt. Every time she is equally surprised that he can stay.

 

It's well into the term now. When he wanders the university grounds he can hear excited whispers about her lecture, already a favorite. The students are only passingly curious about him, seemingly having decided that he's just another part of their professor's mysterious life.

 

River does love to be mysterious.

 

But now they get to go out, at least, without fear of getting her sacked.

 

He's ridiculously chuffed to take her out on her lunch hour. It's almost a proper date. The Doctor squeezes into River's side of the booth, enjoying the way she snuggles into his side even as she glares.

 

"People are staring."

  
The Doctor shrugs, unrepentant. "So?" He fiddles with the napkin with his free hand, folding it up into an origami otter.

 

River bites her lip in the adorable way she does when she's trying not to smile and accidentally encourage him. "I can't take you anywhere, sweetie. We'll have to take the TARDIS for food lest we starve trying to eat in."

 

Well, that's just rude. "Oi - I can cook!"

 

They both ignore the waiter, hovering at the edge of the table and looking uncertain. River laces her fingers through his, rolling her eyes gently. "Fish fingers and custard have their moments, but not for every meal, my love."

 

The Doctor balks, pulling away from her and huffing, "First, fish fingers and custard absolutely should be for every meal and second, I can cook - you know that!"

 

River's eyes are twinkling with mischief. "If you say so-"

 

Which is how he ends up behind the sushi bar with the chefs, flipping fish and generally showing off. River laughs, but looks impressed, until he accidentally smacks himself in the face with a flounder, leaving him sputtering and the chefs glaring.

 

River is still laughing as they are escorted out of the restaurant. The Doctor shoves his hands in his pockets and pouts. "It's not that funny."

 

"Oh, it really is," River wipes tears from her eyes before looping her arm through his. "Custard, is it? Or shall we take the TARDIS to Japan? I do so love it in the 1920s."

 

The Doctor tries to pull away, but River merely holds him fast until he sighs and gives up. He'd just wanted to try a normal lunch. Prove that he wouldn't embarrass River every time he visited her at Luna - that he could do the little days as well as grand gestures. And really, he only lost the fish because he was distracted by River, as he often is.

 

When he remains silent, River frowns and stops, turning toward him. "What is it, Doctor? This is hardly the first time we've been escorted out of a restaurant. Remember Saratoga?"

 

The Doctor scuffs his toe against the grassborgs and doesn't meet River's eyes. "I just wanted us to have a normal lunch date," he mumbles, not quite certain why he's so upset. Or, not quite wanting to admit to it, even to himself.

 

"This was a normal lunch for us, sweetie," River laughs, but it's gentler than before. She runs her thumb over his clenched jaw until he looks up to find her regarding him softly. Of course, River always knows. "I never know what to expect when I'm with you, Doctor, and I wouldn't have it any other way. If we went on normal lunches I'd probably engineer an alien incursion, just to liven things up."

 

"You actually did, on Montar 12."

 

"Oh, it was only a little incursion." They're grinning at each other like idiots.

 

But the Doctor's levity is short-lived. "I can't stay," he admits quietly, wanting more than anything to run with River the way they had on Montar 12. Run with her to Japan or the Custard Planet Coshir, or anywhere where he doesn't have to let her go.

 

River blinks carefully, her smile settling into a brittle, crystalline mask. "I know."

 

He wonders if she really does. If she can feel time eating away at them piece by piece, dragging them in opposite directions until all that's left are echoes.

 

No. Not yet. The Doctor bumps River's shoulder with his and forces his brightest grin to chase away his darker thoughts. "But now, I believe I promised you a demonstration of my cooking prowess."

 

"Prowess?" River mocks, giggling, the lines of strain smoothing around her eyes.

 

He rescues one hand from his pocket to bop her on the nose, relieved when her expression relaxes from its mask at the playful touch. "I'll have you know, fish fingers and custard is a complex dish, requiring finesse and patience."

 

Wrinkling her nose as they resume their leisurely pace, River counters, "Two things you lack utterly."

 

"Rude!"

 

"What are you going to do about it?" River challenges.

 

They exchange a heated look for a long moment. The Doctor juts out his chin and smirks at her.

 

River takes off like a shot, laughing as she races across the quad, dodging students lithely as she runs.

 

The Doctor is after her a second later, his hearts racing and the man-made breeze whipping across him. He feels alive where minutes before he felt as though he might already be dead. None of that matters - time does not matter - when he runs with River Song.

 

He chases River all across the campus. He has longer legs, but River's more adept at dodging pedestrians, and she's not above playing dirty. He has to stop twice to rescue her heels, kicked off in her haste and abandoned amongst the grassborgs in a blatant attempt to trip him.

 

River never goes out without extravagant heels. He shouldn't like that about her, especially when he usually ends up carrying them whilst they run.

 

Too often, they end up traversing treacherous terrain, forcing the Doctor to toss River over his shoulder to save her feet. She always fusses, but she usually gives up on kicking him in favor of passing him said impractical heels and drawing her gun with an admonishment for him to watch that he doesn't trip instead. He'll run, toting River and her shoes while she shoots over his shoulder and curses creatively in six different languages, at least two of which are dead. Definitely shouldn't like that. Really kind of does.

 

The Doctor is not afraid to admit that he has a bit of a fetish for River's shoes - well, he'll never tell her that, but to himself - he is fond of stealing his favorite pairs and leaving them hanging around the TARDIS when she is gone. Not that he wants to wear them - that had only been the once - he'd been curious! - and River had mocked him for weeks after, scolding him that his eleventh body could barely stay standing with both feet planted firmly on the ground, let alone in stilettoes. He's not sure he'll be able to look at her shoes now, scattered across his ship like ghosts in her wake.

 

Still, he can't leave them lying there, so he pockets them and tries to make sense of River's route. She's not headed home, and her lecture hall is behind them - oh.

 

River's been assigned her office at last.

 

Grinning, the Doctor zigs left when River zags right and lopes around the music building to cut her off at the far entrance to her office. He crosses his arms, dangling her shoes from his fingers, smug as he waits for her to round the corner.

 

River stops short when she sees him there. "About time you caught up with me, old man."

 

The Doctor sputters, "Old?!" And is still trying to regain his composure when River crosses the meter separating them, arches up on her tiptoes, and shushes him with a very effective kiss.

 

He can feel her hearts racing against his, both of them wound up from the adrenaline. The Doctor melts into River, wrapping his arms around her to haul her closer. They gasp quick breaths between kisses, hands roaming across far too much clothing.

 

The door opens easily when he sonics the lock, and they tumble into the, thankfully deserted, corridor still entwined. River takes off the second the door shuts, shooting the Doctor a cheeky, breathless look as she runs down the halls, her bare feet padding silently across the marble floors.

 

The Doctor growls, giving chase, and just manages to catch the door she ducks behind seconds before River can slam it shut. He shoves his way through and locks the door very deliberately behind him.

 

His hearts catch when he looks about and realizes where they are - the Dean's private library. River has brought him to a _library_. The Doctor swallows down the bubble of fear and horror at the very idea. River doesn't know - she can't know. They've spent plenty of time in libraries before; back when the Library was far enough off that he could shove it to the back of his mind and pretend to forget what it would mean.

 

"Doctor?" River sing-songs his name and, when he looks back at her, she's dangling handcuffs from her pinky. He's known her too long to wonder where she got them from. _Handcuffs._ In a library. Of course.

 

It takes the Doctor a moment to respond, the stacks of ancient books closing in on him mockingly. He can't quite manage a playful tone under their weight, his voice turned darker than normal. "My bad girl."

 

When River bites her lip this time, it's decidedly less innocent than in the restaurant. "Always. Are you going to punish me, then, Doctor?"

 

He really shouldn't feel his hearts race faster at the mere suggestion, especially not here, not like this. The two of them and handcuffs - though, for once, it won't be him restrained: _must it always end this way?_ "Don't move," he warns, circling the room so as to give himself another moment to fall apart without her seeing.

 

River's eyes follow him until he's out of her sight, but she stays otherwise motionless, standing barefoot in the middle of a restricted library, surrounded by ancient, opulent texts, looking utterly relaxed even as she's still catching her breath.

 

He can do this. Part of him even wants to. As though whatever happens in this library can rewrite _the_ Library.

 

The Doctor drags his sleeve roughly across his eyes, cursing the decrepit old books with all their _dust_ and steps behind River, breathing her in. He runs his hands over her arms, solid against his skin. Real. This River is here, now. And she mustn't know.

 

The handcuffs slot against her wrist perfectly, the metallic click echoing in the cavernous room and drowning out River's sharp intake of breath. He clasps her other wrist and takes another deep breath. "Come with me."

 

"I thought you said not to move?" River queries, snarking at him as though this were any normal day.

 

She shouldn't trust him. Not like this. Not here. "We have to be quiet." _Silence in the Library._

 

He leads her to the mythology section, spinning them until her bound wrists are pressed back against the spines of fairytales. The Doctor undoes her blouse with alacrity, hiding his face against her still-heaving breasts so he doesn't have to meet River's eyes.

 

His hands stay busy, shoving down River's bra and hiking up her skirt. The Doctor drops to his knees to slide off her knickers with shaking hands, shoving them into the recesses of his pocket where they won't tumble out at inopportune moments.

 

River eyes him with amusement. "Starting a collection?"

 

The Doctor takes his time doffing and folding his coat and rolling up his sleeves. He waits to meet her eyes until he can keep the pain of being here firmly masked under the throbbing lust that River always inspires in him. "Maybe I already have one."

 

River's eyes darken, pleased with the idea, and the Doctor privately vows to start a collection at every opportunity. If there are any more opportunities.

 

He can't keep his hands off her, running them along her body to remind himself that she is really here now. River doesn't seem to mind, arching into his touch and biting back whimpers when he brushes his fingertips teasingly across her hips.

 

When his hands start to shake again, he replaces them with his tongue and teeth, leaving harsh, biting marks across River's skin. He wants to cover her body in tangible proof of what they mean to each other. He wants to stay with her, any way he can.

 

River bites back moans and arches into his rougher touches, her skin heated against his lips.

 

The Doctor pulls back long enough to warn, "Keep still," before devoting himself to a thorough study of River's breasts, lavishing them with attention until her nipples are pebbled under his tongue and her skin is blooming red from his teeth. She holds herself still at his direction, her hearts racing double under his lips.

 

He can never get enough of River. At moments like this he feels absolutely desperate for her, as though he's drowning without her touch. He probably is, drowning, when he's without her.

 

In those thoughts lies madness, like the madness of the bookshelves looming over them, waiting to swallow him whole.

 

"Doctor," River whinges, his name drawn out in a needy moan.

 

River always brings him back to the present when his head fills with futures and pasts and shadows. The Doctor presses a kiss against River's ribs, tracing his hands idly over her thighs. "River?"

 

River growls, wiggling again and trying to get him to shift his touch higher. The Doctor smirks against her skin and continues to tease with feather-light strokes and rough nips, careful to keep his hands just shy of where River wants them as he memorizes her.

 

She lets him for a few moments longer before she is too impatient, "Sweetie..." the endearment straddling the line between begging and demanding.

 

"Yes, dear?"

 

River huffs and bites back a curse. "You are an utter tease."

 

The Doctor blinks up at River as innocently as he can manage; taking in her flushed skin and lust-blown eyes. He shoves himself to his feet, taking a step back: River is a sight, mesmerizing, with her blouse caught around her arms and her bare skin lavished with red and purple marks. "You're the one who wanted to be punished."

 

River's eyes narrow in disbelief. "Don't you dare."

 

As if he could. River should know by now that the Doctor is a complete glutton when it comes to her. He is so wrapped up in River that it terrifies him - the lengths he would go to just to keep River with him. He's certainly not about to leave River alone and wanting when he's right here.

 

Not that River hasn't pulled that trick on him a time or ten.

 

If his hands shake as he undoes his trousers and shoves them down to his knees with his pants, he hopes River is too distracted to notice. They're the wrong heights for this without her heels, abandoned by the building entrance. He bends to kiss River instead, drowning himself in the taste of her, her tongue eager and demanding against his.

 

When his hands have steadied, he brings them between her thighs, caressing his fingertips through wiry curls and slick skin. River moans against his mouth as the Doctor presses a finger just inside her, testing the way her muscles clench and stretch around him.

 

He's as desperate for her as she is for him, though, all the more so for the slow buildup. River rocks her hips against the Doctor's hand and he shifts, sliding his hands under her thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin of her bum as he pushes her up the stacks.

 

It's a bit of a difficult angle, with River's hands pinned behind her back and the Doctor's occupied supporting her. He manages to shift her weight to one hand long enough to guide himself inside her, River encouraging him with her legs wrapped around his hips.

 

He presses her hard against the shelf and begins to move, dragging his lips from hers to rest his head against her neck, eyes screwed shut against the pure bliss of being inside River.

 

" _God_ , sweetie, yes," River moans, tightening her legs around him and urging him on with the positively filthy sounds spilling from her lips.

 

He's not going to be able to hold himself together long, not in this place. His blood is racing with fear and adrenaline and lust, coiled tight and contradictory inside him. The Doctor hitches River higher and thrusts in deep, hard strokes that leave them both trembling and gasping for breath. There's a crash, or that might be the roaring of his blood.

 

The Doctor runs his teeth across River's neck and shoulder, sharp bites that don't quite draw blood, and River shatters around him with a scream, sending him careening after her over the ledge.

 

Being with River is like flying and falling all at once, but they always catch each other.

 

Their panting breaths echo in the empty library while they come back to themselves. The Doctor is careful not to rest his weight against River longer than necessary. River uncoils her legs from around him and he helps her back to the ground, slipping out of her with a regretful sigh.

 

"Are you all right?" he turns River to undo the cuffs, taking in the mess of marks littering her bottom and arms with a wince.

 

River rolls her shoulders into a shrug and, in a motion too fast for him to follow, the cuffs drop from her wrists as though they were never there. "Perfect, sweetie," she twists around again to press a chaste kiss to the Doctor's lips as she adjusts her bra and starts with the buttons to her blouse.

 

The Doctor bends to retrieve the handcuffs with his frockcoat, a grin tugging at his lips as he begins to right his own clothing, retrieving a handkerchief from the depths of his pocket. "My bad girl."

 

River cleans herself up before tossing the handkerchief idly into a nearby rubbish bin. "Mmm, and I should let you punish me more often if this is the result. We've nearly brought down the whole library."

 

It takes the Doctor a moment to realize what she means, so focused on River that he's failed to notice the detritus of books littered across the floor, tumbled from the shelves he'd pressed River against.

 

He should probably feel more contrite than he does, but he's not apologetic in the slightest to have ruined a library for River. The books had it coming. "Libraries are rubbish anyway. Good riddance."

 

River laughs before running her hands along her neck and regarding the Doctor shrewdly, "I'm going to regret this, but do you happen to have a scarf in there?"

 

"Actually," the Doctor rummages in his pockets determinedly, "I think I might." There are rather obvious marks above River's collar, and lunch must be over by now. Oh, lunch. He sheepishly hands River a rainbow checked wooly scarf and scuffs his toe against the lush carpeting. "Not much of a lunch after all."

 

With a roll of her eyes, River winds the scarf around her neck and loops her arm through the Doctor's, blithely ignoring the mess of the bookshelves behind them. "On the contrary, Doctor. This is definitely the way to end all our lunches."

 

They manage to rescue her shoes and make it back to her lecture just before it is due to start. The students wander in with their customary gossip, a story already circulating that the Dean's library is haunted.

 

Knickerless and wrapped in his scarf, River teaches her next lecture as though nothing is amiss, with the Doctor settled in the front row, too smug to interrupt.

 

...


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost the second he arrives, he knows he'll have to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all angst and fluff and smut, which is probably a good summary for this whole fic (not even a little bit sorry).
> 
> I can't remember who I showed this to anymore, in all its pieces, but thanks to the usual menagerie for their support: Beverly and Becs and Megs.

Almost the second he arrives, he knows he'll have to leave. The timelines are choking him with possibilities, their weight so heavy that he isn't certain how he'll stand under them.

 

He drags himself to River's front porch, where he sinks down onto the steps, head in his hands.

 

No. _No, no, no, no, no_.

 

He wanted more time than this. He's been off exploring and putting it off and he's just missed her so terribly.

 

Now it feels as though he's too late. He's missed her, and he's not certain he'll ever get a chance to spend his time with his wife again. So much wasted time.

 

River finds him there when she comes out to head to the university, desolate on her porch, too weary to lift his head at her footsteps for fear that she's already a ghost his mind is conjuring up to replace her and stave off the madness of eternity without River.

 

"Sweetie?"

 

When he doesn't reply she sits next to him, her warmth not quite reaching him across the gap. "What's happened, Doctor?"

 

"Nothing," he bites out a hysterical laugh. But that's not right. "Everything."

 

River gently, but firmly, takes hold of his hand, lifting it from his face and tugging him up to stand. "Let's go inside."

 

As soon as she touches him the timelines coalesce from infinities into River. She is here with him, real and solid, and he'd promised he wouldn't do this again. The Doctor manages a shaky smile as he follows her, pliant in River's competent hands.

 

River shuts the door firmly behind them and leads him past the shiny new bookshelf, carefully masking the painting he made of her, and already full of dusty archaeological tomes. Past the kitchen, with the lone mug in the sink reading _archaeology is a load of rubbish!_ with the stylized cartoon artifacts that he'd surprised her with after her first degree. He'd been so proud of himself for the pun and prouder still of River's accomplishments - proud enough to purchase something associated with the word _archaeology_.

 

They have memories together, now, in her house. _Their_ house. Memories that sustain him until River guides them into their bedroom, still freshly copied from the TARDIS and relocated with only a bit of cheating time and space.

 

River gives him a little shove, and the Doctor sits on their bed, head bowed and still struggling to maintain an emotion other than despair. The bed dips as River joins him, her shoulder bumping his. He leans into her, resting his head against hers and burying his face into her hair.

 

Her hand twines with his again, their fingertips laced across her lap. River kicks off her shoes and drops her bag to the floor, sighing. "When's the last time you slept, my love?"

 

Longer ago than he's willing to admit to. The last time he shared her bed, certainly. Not that the Doctor has any intention of wasting their limited time together sleeping. Sleep is just how time steals away lives, and the Doctor will not be cheated out of any time with River.

 

Shoving the timelines - the terrible, too-fast click of a universal clock - out of his head, the Doctor brushes River's hair back from her neck and presses his lips to her pulse. The ends of her curls are still damp from her shower and she smells of bergamot, orange blossoms, and just a hint of mint from her bath products. "Not tired," he murmurs, fingertips tracing constellations across River's palm.

 

He can feel her pulse flutter, the soft hitch to her breath as her fingers curl around his. "Something else, then?" It's not really a question.

 

River lets him press her back into the plush coverlet, sprinkled with a handful of the stars they've visited.

 

The Doctor removes his coat and shoes and perches on the bed next to River, where he can watch her soft breaths and see the concern crinkling at the corners of her eyes. He traces a fingertip across her brow and temple, pausing to cup her cheek in his palm before resuming his path over her nose, lips, chin. "You're beautiful," it slips out on an exhale.

 

"Flatterer," River accuses mildly, but her eyes are soft and pleased.

 

She reaches for him, but the Doctor catches her hands in his own, pressing them down against the stars. "Let me?"

 

River nods, her hands relaxing under his. "I'm all yours."

 

Oh, and he is utterly hers. Always and completely. No matter how long he lives, the Doctor's hearts will always belong next to River's. He gave them to her long ago and never once looked back. _Not one line_.

 

He takes his time stripping off her academic attire. Peeling away the layers to reveal the real River underneath. He lingers over each button on her blouse, hands reverently following the path of revealed skin as he undoes her. River arches up to help shrug it off, and he glides his palms over the skin of her arms and around her waist, drawing her close for a kiss that trembles with their need - hot breaths and thrusting tongues.

 

Shirt discarded, the Doctor moves next to River's bra, unsnapping it and letting the lace fall between them before he nudges River gently back against the bed, reluctantly breaking their embrace.

 

His fingers graze across her nipples before sliding lower, caressing every mark and freckle scattered across River's skin until she trembles under his touch.

 

When he reaches the waistband of her skirt, River arches her hips up eagerly with a low sound of encouragement, and the Doctor trails his hands across her bottom and to the zip, edging it down. As soon as it is undone, River is wriggling out of her skirt and kicking it aside, her bra getting lost somewhere along the way.

 

At last, she is spread naked before him, all glorious curls and snapping eyes and heaving breasts. He would love River in whatever body she chose to wear, but this is the body he has loved for untold centuries, and he cannot deny that it is brilliant. Stunning. "Gorgeous."

 

He traces the Gallifreyan over one hip and then the other, and only then does he realize he's been speaking in his native language. If the words trip over his tongue it is only because seeing her before him, so beautiful and brazen and trusting, makes him want to weep.

  
Instead, the Doctor presses his lips to her soft skin - remapping the path of his fingers from her throat to her breasts. He takes one nipple in his mouth, laving it with attention until River moans and writhes under him, and he catches the puckered skin in his teeth to make her gasp before shifting to the other breast and lavishing it with kisses and nips, tasting every inch of her skin.

 

He kisses each rib, alternating sides, and dips his tongue in her navel to watch River squirm deliciously. By the time he presses his lips to her left hip, River tastes less of soap and more of herself, sweat beading along her skin, and her moans already growing desperate.

  
The Doctor settles between her wantonly spread legs, lacing their fingers together. He pays homage to her right hip first, lifting his head long enough to take in River's heavy-lidded eyes and bitten lips. Her breath catches and holds as he slides his tongue through the coarser curls at the apex of her thighs, already slippery wet.

 

The first hot rush of her taste against his tongue leaves him panting, his blood pounding in time to her moans. Time and home and _River_ \- that unique piece of her he can never quite pin down.

 

The Doctor takes his time, savoring every sound River makes and the way her hands clench at his as he explores her, nudging his tongue against all her most sensitive spots. He spreads her slowly open, nibbling and licking and tasting.

 

"And you call me a tease," River complains around a whimper, her fingers digging into his skin and her back arching up off the bed.

 

The Doctor hums noncommittally against her, listening to her breath hitch as he does so. He never tires of the evocative noises River makes, each one uninhibited and decadent. When he points his tongue and thrusts it inside her, flicking the tip against her slippery walls, River's response is a choked sound of pleasure, low in her throat.

 

He keeps his strokes slow and thorough, his nose nudging against River's clit and his hands gripping hers. She rocks her hips impatiently and the Doctor lets her engulf him, swallowing his own whimper, drenched in her.

 

They move together ever faster, the Doctor licking and thrusting and nudging River closer to her release as she rolls her hips up, thighs, hands, sex all gripping him, demanding more.

 

He strokes the spot inside her that leaves her whole body trembling, shaking him with her, and River's moans pitch to a scream, her orgasm flooding his mouth in a delicious rush that leaves him light-headed.

 

The Doctor laps leisurely at River, letting her come down gently, loath to move from between her legs

 

River sucks in a long breath, her thighs falling open and her hands tugging at his. "Come up here."

 

When he doesn't move, nuzzling his cheek against her thigh and watching her through his fringe, River pokes a toe between his ribs, unerringly finding his most ticklish spot without looking.

 

The Doctor jumps and glares briefly, but he can't even pretend to be anything other than smitten when he looks at her. He crawls slowly up River's body, letting her hands tangle in his hair as she pulls him down for a greedy kiss, and they bask in each other.

 

River nips at the Doctor's bottom lip as they strip off his clothing, impatient. The Doctor tosses his bowtie and waistcoat to the side, popping buttons on his shirt in his haste, while River shoves his trousers unceremoniously to his knees. He wiggles out of his trousers and toes off his socks until at last they are both naked, the length of his body pressed against River's.

 

River hums encouragingly, her tongue stroking sinuously across his. She hooks one leg around his waist and tugs him closer still, until his cock brushes against her damp curls and slick flesh.

 

The Doctor shudders, his whole body tingling with arousal. They shift their hips together until he just nudges at her entrance, and the Doctor catches River's hands before she can haul him closer. He pins her wrists above her head with one hand as he slips inside the tight wet heat of her, a groan stifled against her lips.

 

They part for breath and he dips his head to her neck and breasts, tasting the sweat on her skin as they rock their hips together, quickly finding a rhythm that leaves them both moaning. The bliss of being inside her leaves his whole body throbbing, his hearts racing double-time. "River," he manages her name on a shaky exhale against her breast.

 

"God, _sweetie_ ," River's wrists flex in his hand, her whole body taut as she arches up into him.

 

He lifts his head and her eyes catch his and hold him there. On his next long thrust, he rests his forehead against River's, so close that he can see the flecks of green and gold and blue dancing across her irises. Her eyes are full of ages and lives and so much love that the Doctor wants to shy away. He never feels that he deserves River's devotion. He's just a madman in a box and she's - she's the best thing that has ever happened to him.

 

River's leg tightens around his hips, her eyes darkening with lust and her mouth open to pleasured little sighs. Each thrust sends reverberations sparking down to his toes, tangled in the bedding. They've set a slow, deep rhythm that somehow brings them closer every time they come together, as though they are slowly becoming joined into one whole.

 

The moments stretch into infinities, wrapped up in ecstasy and River. They are pressed as close together as they can get, her breasts pillowing his chest, her thighs cradling his, one of her legs drawing him closer and the other brushing his.

 

The Doctor releases River's wrists to take her hand again, intertwining their fingers as well. Her free hand brushes his hair back, trailing across his face and cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing across his lips.

 

"It's all right, my love," River whispers between gasps, "let go."

 

It's her eyes that drag him over the edge, full of lust and love and forgiveness. His fingers tighten around hers and his body thrums, thrusting with abandon that gives way to an explosion of ecstasy, radiating through his body and leaving his limbs leaden and exhausted.

 

River follows him, eyes wide and mouth open around a ragged moan, body clinging to his, wringing him of everything.

 

He collapses over her, head buried in the soft crook of her neck, her curls blanketing him. River's free hand slides across his sweat-slicked back, fingertips tracing his spine.

 

The Doctor's body and mind feel melted, cocooned in the safety of River. He's content to never move again. He can feel River's hearts racing under his, their breathing synced and their bodies slowly cooling.

 

Once their breathing has evened and their pulses have slowed, River's hand squeezes his gently. "Tired yet?"

 

The Doctor nuzzles his nose into her neck. He is worn down to the bone, but that's not the point. "Not sleepy," he mumbles, the words lost to her skin. The English feels sharp and clunky on his tongue after slipping back into Gallifreyan for so long.

 

River chuckles, the sound infused with a post-orgasmic huskiness that makes one of his hearts skip a beat. "Resist all you like - I have all day to wear you out, Time Lord."

 

The Doctor snorts at her teasing, though he can't deny that the idea of spending the whole day in bed with River has considerable appeals. They don’t often get that much uninterrupted time, just the two of them together, between their general wanderlust and River's lectures. The Doctor lifts his head to regard River. "Don't you have a lecture?"

 

River stretches under him, and the Doctor lets go of her hand, obligingly shifting to her side to curl around her and rest his head over her left heart. She cards her fingers through his hair, unconcerned. "I'll call out sick."

 

"Liar," he accuses one-heartedly, a glutton for as much time with her as he can manage. He should probably feel worse about stealing her away from her work, which he knows she loves, but all he can think is that her calling out is a brilliant idea, and he doesn't know why she hasn't done so sooner.

 

"Hardly. I'm not sure I can move, let alone give a lecture," River counters, wriggling out from under him. "Now budge over a moment, sweetie, and then I'm all yours."

 

Grinning, he reluctantly breaks the contact between them, flopping over to his side of the bed and watching River openly, wondering how she manages to be more beautiful every time he looks at her. "I thought you were already mine?"

 

"Yes, and you're rubbish at sharing." River casts a searching look about the room before sighing and snagging the Doctor's shirt from where it is draped across the nightstand. She buttons the remaining two middle buttons and rolls up the sleeves before rescuing her PDA from where it has fallen, wedged between the nightstand and the bed. "How do I look?"

 

The Doctor stretches out, fingertips brushing her bare thighs, and considers. He can't help being a little smug at the question. Not when she's wearing his shirt, only partially buttoned, and nothing else. All her carefully coiled curls loose and large, tangled from his hands and the sheets. "Thoroughly shagged."

 

River huffs, smacking his bare shoulder despite the grin tugging at her lips. "Well, that will never do."

 

She closes her eyes, face a perfect mask of concentration, and when she opens them again, she looks so utterly miserable that the Doctor shoots upright in alarm. "River! What is it?"

 

"Oh, stop fussing - I'm only faking," River sounds perfectly normal as she shoves him back down to the bed and drags the covers over his head. "Now, stay still a moment."

 

It's actually a bit disturbing how devastated River appears, so easily. The Doctor keeps his mouth shut and limbs still with effort, worrying. He wonders if it's the cracks being allowed through, where all that damage would usually be neatly tucked away. It can't have been difficult for River to find a memory to make her so miserable - the Doctor winces at the thought - and he can only hope it wasn't one of him. He's been selfish, and he absolutely will not add to her pile of bad things today. Today will be only good things.

 

Unaware of his duress, River rings through to the university, calling out as she had promised. There's a dial tone, and then the person on the other end picks up. "Hello, Doctor Song, what can I -" there's a pause, as the woman looks up, "oh, my - is everything quite all right, dear?"

 

"Hello, Andrea. I'm terribly sorry, but I've only woke up just now," River lies easily, her voice shaky and stuffy, as though every word pains her, "and I don't think I can make it out of bed today. Hopefully I'll be back on my feet by tomorrow."

 

He can hear the double entendre in River's excuses, even if Andrea can't. Certainly, the Doctor has absolutely no intention of letting her out of their bed today.

 

"Take all the time you need, dear - I'll send out the cancellation notice for your lecture. I hope that husband of yours is taking good care of you!"

 

The Doctor can perfectly visualize the smirk that River must be hiding behind her mask of misery as she replies, "Oh, he is," and ends the video-call with the usual benign pleasantries.

 

As soon as the Andrea has hung up, River ducks under the covers, slithering down until she's face to face with the Doctor. Her expression has returned to one of indolent content, though her eyes are still flashing mischievously. "There now - I've officially skived off. What shall we do?"

 

It's impossible to brood, cocooned under the sheets with a playful River grinning at him. The Doctor grins back, tracing his fingers over River's cheek and down her neck, following the collar of his shirt until he reaches the top button. He has to admit - it looks better on her. "I believe I've been sworn to keep you in bed and off your feet."

 

River's hand settles over his, pressing them against her breast - over her right heart. "You do - you know - take good care of me." She arches one eyebrow, teasing again, "Especially when I'm faking my illness."

 

He rolls over her, pinning her underneath him and dropping kisses across her neck and chest. River squirms under his devotions, her pulse racing under his lips. Once he's certain he can keep his voice light, the Doctor lifts his head and promises, "I'm your husband - it's my job to see to your every whim."

 

River drags him into a messy kiss, her teeth nipping at his lip. When she releases him, River licks her lips and drags her nails down his spine, smirking when the Doctor shivers. "Oh, I feel very thoroughly seen to."

 

Supporting himself on one arm, his free hand sneaks under his shirt to cup River's breasts in turn, squeezing them, and River makes a soft, surprised sound of encouragement. The Doctor teases her nipples to attention before exploring the rest of her form in broad strokes, rucking up his shirt and sweeping across her curves by memory.

 

"Tease," River accuses again, her voice slightly breathless.

 

"I'm not teasing, I'm savoring," he corrects, freeing River's breasts and taking one nipple into his mouth, intent on following the same path with his tongue.

 

River's clutches at his hair and back, her nails biting into his skin as she holds him in place.

 

His hand continues its path down her body, fingers parting her slick folds and nudging her swollen clit. She's still sensitive from their recent lovemaking, her hips twitching at his light touches.

 

"Savor faster," River murmurs with an urgent growl that ends on a whimper as he sinks two fingers inside her welcoming depths and River arches up to meet him.

 

His mouth is still occupied with her breasts, sucking and kissing and tasting, so he forgoes a reply, pumping his fingers in a slow, steady pace and lost in the way River's body clenches around them, drawing him back before he's even left.

 

River catches his hand in hers, dragging it up to suck his fingers into her mouth, her tongue wrapping around them in a way that goes straight to his cock. She slides her hip over his and rolls them sideways with an impatient sound, her slick sex rubbing against him.

 

With a groan, the Doctor feels that same urgency racing through him, demanding that he be fully inside her immediately. He nips his way up to River's neck, lingering over her racing pulse, and lets River shift their bodies until he can sink inside the searing heat of her with a muffled groan.

 

River lets his fingers slip from her mouth with a wet pop, throwing her head back on a moan, her body already clenching desperately around him.

 

The Doctor slides his hand to her hip, hitching River closer as he lifts his head to watch her, so close that he can see the individual flecks of color dancing across the thin ring of her irises.

 

They set a slow, deep pace, bodies already trembling and throbbing together, everything still so achingly sensitive that it almost hurts, balancing on the razor edge of ecstasy.

 

River closes the miniscule space between them for a soft kiss, her lips pressing against his and her eyelashes fluttering over his cheek. The Doctor's lips part naturally at her touch, his eyes falling shut and the rest of the universe falling away.

 

There is only River, surrounding him, their bodies aligned. His shirt is still bunched between them, damp from their skin and hiding none of the soft curves that cradle him.

 

He can feel the fast staccato of River's hearts, in perfect sync with his own as their bodies rock together, drawn by the irresistible pull between them.

 

His fingers dig into River's thigh, hitching her leg higher over his hip, and River tears her mouth from his on a gasp.

  
Sweat is beading on their skin, and their hips are gaining urgency. The Doctor can already feel his control fraying every time he pushes into the swollen, wet heat of River, her muscles clenching around his cock and demanding more of him.

 

"I'm yours too, you know," the Doctor manages, his voice thick and scratchy, forcing his eyes open even as his muscles tremble with the effort of holding back the low heat suffusing his body. "Always and completely, River."

 

Eyes flying open to find his, even as her body quivers and clenches around him, River brushes her thumb over his jaw. "Oh, sweetie - that was a given," she offers breathlessly, nothing but love and forgiveness on her face.

 

A sound that might be a laugh bubbles up in the Doctor's chest, tears prickling at his eyes. He kisses her again to stave off either, his hips snapping against hers with renewed urgency, desperate to be joined with her utterly and completely.

 

Neither of them last long. River comes with a muffled cry against his lips, body quivering and clenching around him, and the Doctor follows helplessly after, spilling the last of himself inside her.

 

They lay there for a long time after, wrapped up in one another, trading quiet breaths and soft kisses, cocooned under the sheets and within one another.

 

...

 

When food becomes a necessity, the Doctor simply scoops River up in his arms and carries her to the kitchen.

 

She swats at him and laughs, and he wishes he'd swept her off her feet more often. "Put me down, you great clumsy idiot, before you drop me!"

 

"I'd never drop you," the Doctor responds promptly, clutching her tighter. It comes out too serious, so he softens his features into a grin and pinches River's bum for her cheek. "Besides, I'm supposed to keep you off your feet, remember?"

 

He deposits River on the worktop and sets about making a full English breakfast, rummaging through River's fridge and having to make some creative substitutions.

 

River offers a running commentary, none of it flattering, swinging her feet against the cupboards and poking him when he comes near enough.

 

The Doctor frowns at the fuchsia color of the omelet. "You're not helping."

 

"I'm supervising," River counters, scooting closer so that she can peer over his shoulder with a snort. "Making sure you don't burn the house down."

 

He scowls and River laughs, and he can't really complain because he'd suffer far worse indignities than a little mocking to make her laugh. He waves his spatula in her face, "Back, you. I need to flip the sausage."

 

The sound she makes is lower and dirtier as she considers him. "Hmm, and here I was going to let you flip me instead." Instead of moving away, River's legs wrap around his waist.

 

The spatula clatters to the floor, forgotten, as the Doctor lets River draw him into her, his hands already moving to undo the buttons of River's stolen shirt as he presses her back onto the worktop.

 

...

 

By the time he remembers about breakfast, it's all burnt to a crisp. Not that he has any complaints at all. They make tea and scrounge up assorted odds and ends, including a wide selection of biscuits.

 

River insists on walking to the dining room with a smirk, shoving the Doctor's arms full of food and rescuing their teacups before he can try to balance them. She leads him to the dining table, naked, eyes sparkling and one eyebrow arched as she sits. "Well?"

 

They don't make it more than halfway through their tea before River ends up face down against the dining table, nails digging into the wood, and the plate of biscuits sliding off in their wake.

 

...

 

After that, they retreat to the lounge, curling naked under an ancient afghan on the sofa and watching old vids. Well, River watches the vids. The Doctor is far too busy drinking her in to bother paying attention to the telly.

 

River squirms in his arms, eyes darting toward his. "Stop it."

 

The Doctor continues winding her curls around his fingers, his other hand lazily stroking across her side. "What?"

 

"Watching me," River huffs, as though she's ever minded being the center of his attention.

 

"Make me."

 

He feels River's breath hitch at the familiar challenge, and then she's pressing him down against the sofa and rising over him, and the last thing in the universe he'd do is look away.

 

...

 

Eventually, they find themselves back in their bed, in the small hours of the morning that are bigger on the inside.

 

The Doctor feels heavy and shattered, more from the press of time choking him than spending the day shagging his wife across her house. He's been able to lose himself in her, safe in a shelter of River where time never matters. Though, if it's the last... he can't say as he minds that every room of her house will be marked with memories of them.

 

River stretches next to him with a low sound before curling back into him. "I might just keep you around - this is the best workout I've had in ages."

 

The Doctor drops a kiss into her hair. "I see how it is - just using me for my body."

 

Her laughter echoes through his chest, marking his bones with the quiet rumble as she clings tighter to him. "What, this lanky thing? I don't know why I let you near me, honestly."

 

"Because I make you scream."

 

He never tires of the hitch in River's breathing when he lets his voice drop to that low growl. Their nerves are raw and sensitive, muscles sore and tired, but River's fingertips dance across his stomach anyway, leaving all those nerves and muscles quivering under her touch, aching for her. "Mmm, in that case, I'm definitely just using you for sex."

 

He pokes her side, heaving out a long-suffering sigh and relishing her giggle as his fingers find all her secret, ticklish spots. "Such a romantic."

 

"I'll leave the romance to you, sweetie," River promises, breathless as she squirms out of his grasp.

 

His own personal assassin - his bespoke psychopath - curled up in bed with him and barely batting him away as he tickles her. The Doctor's hearts ache with how lucky he has been. "I didn’t manage much in the way of romance today," he laments with a huff, thinking that he should have spent the day wooing his wife, rather than hiding in sweet warmth of her arms.

 

River stretches luxuriously and lets him drag her back into his arms. "On the contrary, Doctor. I seem to recall you sweeping me off my feet, quite literally." She hums contentedly, musing, "Today reminds me of when I was at university - skiving off lectures to spend the day in bed with you. Though, we used to spend the day in the TARDIS. The Old Girl is going to get jealous."

 

He hasn't lived those memories yet. Those last few untouched pages of her diary - the only spoilers left. He hasn't been sure he was strong enough to face River during her university days, to whisk her off on adventures and be patient with spoilers and hide the loss from his eyes.

 

Now though, when he can feel every tick of the clock like a guillotine around his neck, the Doctor regards those days with foolish hope. Even if he doesn't see an older River again (and he refuses to believe that, cradled here in her arms - he'll steal more time with her if he has to), he has a few precious more days with her younger self.

 

The Doctor grins back at River, torn between wrenching loss and hopeful elation. "Never. She adores you." It's safer, to spend time with her on Luna. He's far too tempted to just keep River, once she's on the TARDIS, and he thinks the Old Girl would let him, paradoxes be damned.

 

River arches one eyebrow. "Of course she does - she'd be jealous of you for keeping me all to yourself."

 

The Doctor huffs into her skin, but he can't deny it's true. "You've always been her favorite."

 

River's hand cards through his hair gently, and he presses languid kisses across her chest, refusing to rush in a last act of rebellion against their backwards timelines.

 

With a soft sigh, River arches into him. "Are you going to sleep, my love?"

 

"Can't. Busy." River looks so concerned that the Doctor sighs, meeting her gaze and willing his words true, if he has to bend time and the universe to make it so. "I'll sleep the next time I see you."

 

Unconvinced, she offers him a soft smile, brushing his hair off his forehead fondly. "From whose perspective?"

 

The Doctor smiles tightly and says nothing, which is answer enough.

 

...

 

He steals every last second with her, until his head begins to pound and his vision starts to blur under the weight of their timelines, demanding he leave. Still, he waits, clinging tightly to River because the pain of staying cannot possibly match the agony of leaving her arms.

 

River runs her hand across his brow, smoothing the creases there. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is?"

 

"Is it enough to know that you make everything better?" He kisses her knuckles, but he keeps his eyes on hers. He's not lying - being with River is the salve to every wound he has. Even if he doesn't know what he'll do in the time to come without her, he knows that it is utterly worth it for these moments together.

 

River brushes his fringe back. "Always," but the concern lingers in her eyes.

 

He brushes a kiss over her lips, trying to chase away the slight frown. He doesn't want to burden her with his misery more than he already has. Besides, she has their year together still to look forward to. And, oh, what a year it was.

 

The Doctor eases himself out of her arms, sliding bone-weary legs over the edge of the bed and suddenly feeling older still than when the Master withered his body in a year that was rewritten. So many things rewritten - but not them, never them.

 

River presses a kiss to the top of his spine. "You're leaving, then," and it's not a question.

 

The Doctor nods helplessly, mustering up a smile from somewhere before he rises and drags himself to the wardrobe to dress. The shirt he was wearing is still abandoned in the kitchen, its buttons littering their bedroom floor, and he doesn't know what has become of his bowtie.

 

He feels a bit dizzy and numb, the pressure of their timelines lessening with each layer of clothing dragging him farther from River, even though she is sat right behind him, watching him dress from the comfort of their bed.

 

His hands shake when he dons a fresh bowtie, and he closes his eyes, trying to breathe through the roaring in his ears.

 

River moves silently, her small hands closing over his, quickly finishing the knot and sealing his fate with a kiss to his cheek before she withdraws. The timelines clear, now that he's dressed, now that he's really leaving, and the Doctor feels the weight of his bowtie like a noose around his neck.

 

"How do I look?" He manages a little twirl for her, nearly choking on the words.

 

Wrapped in her bedsheet, lips swollen, hair wild, skin mapped with his touch, River Song smiles beatifically at him. "Amazing."

 

He holds that vision of her in his mind, or else he'd never be able to leave her. He's afraid to touch her again, or else he really won't. "See you soon, Doctor Song."

 

"Count on it," River promises, and he holds that promise too, nestled close between his hearts.

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is *not* the last chapter. This is merely the end of Part II - there's a whole third part waiting. Hopefully, not waiting too long, since I've already been working on the next chapter.
> 
> And, for those interested, River's mug actually exists: http://www.zazzle.co.uk/archaeology_is_a_load_of_rubbish_mug-168760236322430073


	16. Part III: Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he sets the coordinates for Luna on the TARDIS, the Doctor tells himself firmly that this is a love story and it is not over. He repeats it like a mantra, eyes screwed shut, barely daring to breathe. He cannot have seen his wife for the last time. He will not accept that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, not dead! Sorry for the epic delay on this chapter. If it's any consolation, I've been working on the next two at the same time. Just took longer to put everything together than I'd hoped - though I am still optimistic that it will be reasonably soon for the next chapter. This is what I get for taking on prompts. What was I thinking? But I digress. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Thanks to Beverly for looking it over - all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Shout out to Pam, who I stole the potato headcanon from because it's brilliant.
> 
> This part takes place approximately after _Hide_.

When he sets the coordinates for Luna on the TARDIS, the Doctor tells himself firmly that this is a _love story_ and it is _not over_. He repeats it like a mantra, eyes screwed shut, barely daring to breathe. He cannot have seen his wife for the last time. He will not accept that. Therefore, this will work. He will find her at Luna, molding impressionable young minds, just as before.

 

The Doctor steps outside, checks the date, time, and course listings, and finally, _finally_ , breathes again. He's at Luna University, after River's been made a professor, and her lecture is on the register. She'd tease him mercilessly about finally bothering with environmental checks if she saw him but he doesn't care because _his wife is here_. Not a ghost or a student, but his actual _wife_.

 

This time, he strolls into the auditorium well before lecture is scheduled to start. River is there, as he suspected, preparing her notes and adjusting the artifact displays. The sight of her always stops his hearts and starts them all at once, as though they haven't been whole without her.

 

He can't resist bounding up onto the stage and wrapping her in his arms. River laughs as he lifts her into the air and spins them in a delirious circle. "Hello, sweetie."

 

"Hello, wife." He's kissing her as soon as the words leave his mouth, before he even sets her down.

 

River responds enthusiastically, her mouth parting against his to grant access to his tongue with that soft sigh that he hears in his dreams. Her hands clutch at his coat and one leg wraps around his.

 

Surrounded by the scent and feel of River after so long without her, his legs suddenly feel weak. The Doctor lowers River gently to the ground, peppering kisses across her lips and cheeks and nose and eyelids.

 

He doesn't let her get far, fumbling in his pocket for his sonic and aiming at the sound system while his other hand presses River close, wrapped around her waist.

 

River blinks up at him at the first familiar strains of Tchaikovsky. "You nostalgic idiot." But she lets him waltz her across the stage anyway.

 

He can't resist pressing her back against the podium. He can never stand that first lecture - he spends the whole time imagining her in his arms. The feel of her. The essence of River Song that he cannot conjure over the long lonely years when he aches with missing her. This time, he doesn't think he can manage waiting even a few more minutes, let alone through her entire lecture.

 

Besides. It's practically a tradition by now.

 

River laughs against the podium. "Such a filthy mind, Doctor. University must bring it out in you."

 

She's recalling their adventures both when she was a student and a professor, he knows. He can't help being a little smug at some of those memories. "You bring it out in me," and then he's crowding her into the podium and letting her feel just what she brings out in him.

 

River just shimmies against him with a naughty smile tugging at her lips. The Doctor groans. How is he ever supposed to get enough of her?

 

His hand slides down her body without waiting for permission, finding its home between her welcoming legs, edging up her skirt until he can stroke her through already damp knickers. He presses harder, arching helplessly to rub against her, his hand trapped between them.

 

River struggles against a moan, her mouth open on a soft sound and her eyelids fluttering shut. "I have a lecture, sweetie," she manages without much protest, just as his fingers are slipping under the elastic to her knickers.

 

"Not until half two," the Doctor corrects, circling his thumb over her clit slowly and wondering if he'll be able to manage even the little distance between them her lecture will impose or if he'll just stay right here between her legs as he listens to her speak.

 

River eyes him speculatively before she tugs his hand up from between her legs and brings it to rest against her bosom. "I'm meant to be reviewing my notes."

 

He's already undoing the buttons to her blouse, caressing her breasts through her. "You're brilliant at improvisation," he counters, already half-lost in her, solid and soft and willing against his hands.

 

"I wonder why that is," River huffs, but it's all for show. She unhooks her bra and steals his sonic deftly, locking the very wooden lecture door (he checked), while the Doctor nips his way from River's breasts to her knickers, less concerned with breathing than with tasting every part of her he can reach.

 

The podium lowers and the Doctor goes with it, sinking to his knees before his wife. He doesn't believe in deities, but he'll happily worship River. If he cannot find the words to express how much he loves her, he'll just have to show her every way that he can. In fact, he plans to do just that, caressing her bared breasts as he mouths at her clit through the already soaked fabric of her knickers. River hisses and arches up into his touch, and the Doctor thinks that maybe all his long lives were just leading him here: to River.

 

That first vivid taste of her explodes across his tongue - River and time - scalding through his body with all the force of any regeneration. He feels reborn and rebuilt: a new man in her arms. The Doctor makes a whimpering noise, momentarily overcome. But only momentarily - he'd never truly believed he'd find himself here again, and he does not intend to waste such blatantly stolen time. The universe can bend and break around him for all he cares, so long as he gets River in the meantime.

 

He tugs off River's knickers with his teeth, his hands occupied tracing the curves of her body by memory, placing her in her timeline by touch alone.

 

With a pleased hum, River shifts on the podium to help, shoving her knickers down and wiggling out of them as she scoots to the edge and threads her hands through his hair. "Not to rush you, sweetie, but we do have a timetable to keep."

 

"Time is not the boss of me," the Doctor scoffs immediately, punctuating that statement by burying his head between River's legs, opening her to his lips and tongue.

 

It takes River a moment to reply around a moan. "Yes, well... I am..."

 

He spells out his denial with his tongue buried inside River, relishing her resulting shiver. Right now all he wants is to watch his wife come apart for him, to taste her pleasure on his tongue. Greedy and starved for her, the Doctor drags his tongue across her sensitive skin, demanding all the sweet, keening noises River makes as she bucks her hips toward him.

 

He's had a long time to learn exactly where to press his lips and flick his tongue, all the spots that leave River shivering and gasping, her hands tugging at his hair, and the Doctor uses them all, relishing the hot, heady taste of her flooding his mouth. When even that is not enough to sate him, he slides his hands roughly down her body until he can press two fingers inside her wet depths, nipping at her clit with just a hint of teeth.

 

River makes a strangled noise half between a whimper and a scream, her powerful thighs threatening to crush him. His scalp burns from her grip, a hot tingle that races with the lust already warring through him, and suddenly all his plans to draw this out evaporate into a desperate need for all of her, right now.

 

The Doctor uses his free hand to press her leg back against the podium and pushes her higher, curling his fingers as he thrusts them inside her in time with the flick of his tongue over her clit, fast and hard, the way their couplings so often are when their skin is heated by longing suppressed far too long.

 

This time, River's shriek cracks at the end, renewed wetness soaking the Doctor's fingers, and he works her more gently through her orgasm, pressing soft kisses to her thighs even as he buries his fingers inside her.

 

Her grip on his hair slackens and, with a last lingering kiss to her skin, the Doctor withdraws, grinning up at River, too besotted to be concerned about the calculating look in her eye.

 

River is gripping his bowtie and hauling him up from the floor before her breathing has even levelled out, undoing the knot with practiced ease and wrapping her legs securely around his waist. "I'm all for nostalgia, sweetie, but this podium is wretched." It doesn't seem to be stopping her, though.

 

He's swiftly undone, waistcoat and shirt parting under River's skilled fingers until she can trace her nails across his ribs and stomach. The Doctor struggles out of his clothing until he can wrap River up in his arms again, her bare skin glorious and soft against his. "I'm adaptable, dear," he whispers against her collarbone, taking a step away from the podium and urging her along with him. "Turn around."

 

"Bad boy," River teases, her eyes sparkling as she drops off the podium and shimmies out of her skirt with a very practiced motion that leaves the Doctor's eyes rolling back in his head before she turns, curling her fingers over the ledge of the podium and tossing a saucy look over her shoulder. "What are you waiting for?"

 

His hands find their home on River's hips as he steps forward and leans his body over hers, cock sliding deliciously against the curve of her bum. River is as stunning from behind as from the front, certainly, but Rule One - it's easier to hide his face in the smooth skin of her back.

 

River arches up on her toes and reaches back unerringly to wrap her fist around his cock and guide him inside her as the Doctor bends his knees. Together, they find the right angle, and he slides home with an involuntary thrust, unable to catch himself at the overwhelming need lacing through him the second they are joined.

 

River gasps and then hums in approval, so the Doctor tightens his grip on her hips and withdraws almost entirely before surging roughly forward. It's almost painful, the pleasure and longing curling through his body, centered where they're joined. Oh, he's missed her. There's something vulnerable about being like this, with River, something in how perfectly they complete each other, how their bodies yearn for each other, that brings tears prickling at his eyes, his fingers digging into her skin.

 

In moments like this, the long years without River seem like a dark abyss, a bleak nightmare, and all the Doctor can hold onto is her. He never, ever wants to be without her again.

 

" _Sweetie,_ " River moans, rocking her hips in counterpoint to his, sweat already starting to bead down her back.

  
The Doctor licks it off, the salty, concentrated taste of her skin. His breath comes in huffs, leaving gooseflesh on her skin as he drags his lips across her neck and shoulders and spine. "Yes, dear?" leaving burning kisses between words. He angles his hips carefully and tries to focus on River, here and now; the taste and feel and stroke of her, so very alive against him.

 

River growls and rakes her nails along his side, leaving him the one shivering, knees once again weak. She tosses her hair, the curls tickling across his forehead, and turns to regard him with lust glazed eyes. "Oh, I hate you."

 

A giggle escapes him - he's even missed the way River manages to look murderous and seductive without any juxtaposition at all. He presses his weight forward with the next thrust of his hips, pushing them both down against the podium. Smug, he slides one hand under her until his fingers trip purposefully across her clit and River's breath catches. "No, you don't," he promises, low against her ear.

 

There's something delicious and illicit in their old banter that sends the Doctor's heart racing. After all this time, _I hate you_ still passes as an _I love you_ that only they understand. The woman who married him and murdered him and, most days, would do both again gladly. Days that they still have.

 

And then it's impossible to think because his body is tight and aching with pleasure. River's moans echo around him, sharp and close to the edge, and his vision blackens, legs wobbly under him.

 

River twists her head until she can steal a clumsy kiss, mingled with their gasps and moans, and the Doctor feels his hearts and body shattering, giving over to her, utterly and completely.

 

The world resolidifies slowly, and they must have fallen off the end of the universe together because River looks as dazed as he feels when the Doctor regretfully withdraws from the soft pillow of her skin, leaning against the podium for support and tugging River around to lean against him. He presses a kiss to her hair and tries to gather his scattered wits and hearts, lost with his wife, as always. "I think you've properly worn me out, dear."

 

He closes his eyes again and basks in simply being with River. Even the weight of stolen time cannot detract from the calm he feels with her. With River, he never needs to run. He would stay here forever, until time looped in on itself infinitely, and the only constant left was the two of them.

 

It's River who pulls away first, pressing a glancing kiss to his lips before shifting deftly from his arms and reaching for her discarded clothing. "Aren't you going to give me another pretty speech about not writing this down in my diary?"

 

The Doctor sucks in a deep breath. _Another_ speech. This version of his wife is definitely older than the first time he visited her here. "Nah," he blows out the air noisily, forcing himself to seem casual as he reaches a shaking hand for his trousers. "Not this time."

 

River arches one eyebrow. "Shall we compare diaries then?"

 

No, not that. Definitely not that. "I already know where you are." It comes out too serious, so the Doctor hides his sorrow neatly behind a teasing mask. "The lecture hall was a bit of a hint, I'll admit."

 

"But you're still 'a bit farther along'?" She's searching him for an answer the Doctor can't give her.

 

"Something like that."

 

It's no good, when they're both this far along in their relationship ( _this close_ to the end). They can see right through Rule One to the truth lurking beneath when they most need the lies to hide the damage. The Doctor ducks his head before she sees too much, busying himself dressing.

 

Mercifully, River lets it go. She knows as well as he does that any secrets remaining between them are better not spoken. "And still willing to brave an undergraduate archaeology lecture."

 

Just like that, the tension is broken. The Doctor shoves aside the darker thoughts plaguing him and meets River's teasing smile with relief. "Nothing like a spot of archaeology to fire up the old brain." He bops her nose and watches it wrinkle fondly.

 

They finish dressing quickly - all pieces accounted for, for once - and the passing period announcement chirps through the speakers just as River is straightening his bowtie. River nicks his sonic again - not that he minds when it's her - and unlocks the door with a quick kiss before she turns to her lecture notes.

 

The Doctor leans against the podium and River, reading her notes over her shoulder, close enough that he's breathing her curls. They're in the 21st century again - all wars and technology and invasions. His feet are still tapping out half of the waltz they never finished. He can see her struggling not to be annoyed or amused.

 

Her students trickle in with a wave of noise that becomes muted as they catch sight of River and the Doctor, and then redoubles as curious whispers.

 

He hastily retracts his hand from the curve of her bum when he accidentally catches one student's wide eyes and realizes they're not quite as hidden as he'd hoped.

 

For her part, River appears perfectly unruffled, despite the sweat that is beading along her collarbone and the red to her lips. The Doctor has to exercise considerable willpower not to lick the sweat off, to taste the arousal still exuding from her pores.

 

"If everyone would take their seat..." He only realizes he's staring once River speaks, and he makes an effort to straighten up, tucking his frockcoat tighter to cover his front and staying carefully behind the podium. "My husband is joining us for this lecture _as a silent observer_ , so please feel free to pretend he's not here at all."

 

River grins at the Doctor's scowl and shoos him off the stage with a single raised eyebrow. He finds his normal seat thankfully unoccupied, and offers the students nearest him a friendly smile as he settles down, feet crossed over the railing and his hands over his lap.

 

The students give him a vague nod in return, sneaking looks between him and River, though the whispers die down once River begins to lecture: a rapid-fire mixture of history and artifacts and anecdotes.

 

Only, this time, her attention is fixed discretely on him and the rest of the students fade into the background as he becomes absorbed again in River's clear excitement for her topic. Even if that topic is archaeology.

 

Really, the Doctor thinks the only reason he's not been content to just sit quietly in the past is because he hates sharing River's attention, even with her students. Especially about something she's so passionate about. He's always teased River so about archaeology partially because he knows it's important to her - the same way she riles him over his driving or his sonic. Of course, part of his teasing is genuine distaste for the subject. As a time traveler and Time Lord, archaeology leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It's nearly as vile as her vortex manipulator. The things he puts up with for love of River.

 

"Actually, that's wrong."

 

River's eyes narrow at the interruption, her gaze losing the last of its lingering warmth. "Doctor, you are not going to critique my lecture."

 

So much for being content to sit there quietly. Still, no point backing down now - River's already annoyed and her students are already staring again. "But it's wrong!"

 

"No, it's not."

 

"Yes, it is."

 

River gives him a look that says she thinks he's being childish, and takes a deep breath through her nose, forcing her voice to sound calm and certain, though he can see the tightness of anger in her jaw. "Doctor! I lived it. I would know, don't you think?" Saccharine sweet, the tone she uses when she's thinking up especially creative vengeance plots or that he's being daft or both.

 

The Doctor shrugs. "Not all of it!"

 

One of River's eyebrows arches, perfectly incredulous and utterly exasperated. "And how do you know?"

 

Grinning, the Doctor stretches his arms over his head and smirks at her. _Spoilers_. But instead of saying it, as she doubtless expects, he offers, "I was there. And the three day Sontaran war was started over an unfortunate joke about resemblance to a potato."

 

Distracted by the way River's cheeks heat and chest heaves when she's cross with him, the Doctor belatedly remembers that there are actual students about. Actual students that are watching them far too intently, looking in turn scandalized and intrigued. And perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned time travel in this century, but River started it, and really, she's the one who gave him that ridiculous cover as a time agent, so it's entirely her fault if he uses it.

 

He does wonder at River's willingness to admit to her own time travel, but perhaps she's received special dispensation at this point in her career. Or else she's presumed to be a time agent as well to justify her mysterious past. Perhaps they have a whole secret, dangerous past together as time agents - he'll have to ask River about the rumors when they're alone. It would hardly be the most absurd myth about them.

 

For a moment, River still looks like she might come into the stands to slap him, but then her laughter rings out, genuine and wonderful. The Doctor feels some tension in his shoulders unknot at the sound. "Cultural sensitivities are important not to overlook," she finally manages, steering her students back to the topic at hand without actually admitting she was wrong. "In lieu of an actual witness or written records - which can be altered - archaeology is not an exact science. Wars are fought for a myriad of reasons, big and small. Never forget that. This case is an excellent demonstration of how cultural and etymological context must be taken into account when reviewing historical documents."

 

The Doctor settles back into his seat, relieved and a bit impressed that River has so effortlessly steered her lecture back on course. He really doesn't mean to interrupt her - his mouth just runs away with him sometimes. He's too used to being the smartest one in the room - except around River - that he can't resist an opportunity to point out when she's wrong. Annoying River Song is a dangerous proposition, but the Doctor has spent too long running towards danger to turn back now. Too long running towards her.

 

The students return to their notes, hastily scribbling on their electronics, and the Doctor lets his thoughts drift from her lecture to after: to their house and their bed and whether or not the third stair still creaks. Under the warmth of her gaze, he allows himself a moment to indulge in daydreams of their home, as though they have all the time in the world to enjoy it.

 

...


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd started to despair that he would never see an older River again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'm apologizing for an epic delay. At least I'm apologizing with a long chapter that's almost entirely fluff and smut. Because nothing says sorry like porn.

He'd started to despair that he would never see an older River again. All his attempts had led him to her university days. He's dragged her out for dates and showered her with gifts and done his very best to be everything she deserves. Everything he wishes he'd always been. Her husband, in everything but name (to her).

 

River is always a force to be reckoned with, always an oncoming storm, always trouble - she always leaves him blushing and scrambling to keep up with her; to impress her. She always takes his breath away.

 

But, while he loves all versions of his wife, from the wide-eyed, wild excitement of her days as a student to the self-assured strength and wit of her days as a professor, he's missed _this_ her the most. The one who knows him inside out - only that one time literally - and the one who is going to leave him soon, taking his hearts with her.

 

He finally understands why she never stayed with him before. All the times he'd asked her - begged her - to travel with him when he was younger and she was older.

 

It's just too hard.

 

Oh, the timestreams would have held. The universe and the TARDIS would compensate for a few weeks or months or years travelling together. They both knew that. And yet, River only ever smiled sadly and slipped through his fingers.

 

He never understood.

 

Except now he's older and she's younger and he finally does. It hurts too much to be her husband and not at the same time. To run with a younger version of her that he cannot touch or hold. To listen to her babble about her courses and her parents and know that, while she has so much still to come, it is all in the past for him.

 

River never stays to travel with him because he never could. Oh, he tried, once or twice. But the spoilers: they always weighted down their time until he was so heavy with them that one misplaced word would send them all tumbling to the ground. And it was all he could do to cut their time short and run away before he couldn't hide the damage from her.

 

She was just too young.

 

Just as he had been.

 

Even though it tore him apart to leave any version of River when he knew his days with her were only growing shorter, it hurt more to stay. To be in love with her and have to hide from her, even as she was just learning to love him back. To be running from her all over again, when he wished he'd never run at all.

 

He tries to make it up to her. It seems there's always something to make up for. He makes up for the way he ran from her when she was older by doting on her younger; and from leaving her younger, he hopes, by staying when she's older. Oh, how desperately he wants to stay.

 

He starts by making her the proper breakfast they never got to the last time he was in their house (though, from River's perspective, he's been there since). He sneaks out of their bed in the wee hours of the morning to cook, grateful that the kitchen is far enough from the bedroom that his clumsiness doesn't wake River. The drawback, however, is that he knows he'll never manage to get a tray to their room in one piece. So he sets an elaborate table instead and debates whether he should wait for River or risk waking her.

 

"What's all this then?"

 

The Doctor nearly drops a pitcher of juice, sloshing some over the rim in his surprise. River is leaning against the doorway in a silk dressing gown that he recognizes from a trip to the Xin Dynasty, watching him with a bemused expression.

 

Scratching at his cheek nervously, the Doctor hastily tries to sop up the spilt juice, avoiding River's eyes. "Breakfast?"

 

River sits at the table, eyeing the spread and him curiously. "Rather elaborate for a Tuesday, my love. Bored already?"

 

The Doctor scoffs at the very notion, settling at his own place next to River and stealing a sausage from her plate to dunk in his juice. "Never. Not possible around you, River Song."

 

A smile twitches at her lips and River turns to her breakfast to hide it. "Did you really find all this in my cupboards?"

 

"Well, the stuffing of the crepes may have been improvised, and you'll just have to trust me on the potatoes, but raisins actually work quite well with eggs and-" the Doctor frowns, realizing that wasn't the question she meant. "Of course I did. Did you think I'd run off in the TARDIS while you were sleeping to do the shopping?"

 

Skewering a raisin with more force than necessary, River shrugs, expression inscrutable. "There is a precedent."

 

The Doctor winces, and suddenly he's not hungry at all. He's done that before, he remembers. When their relationship was new, from his perspective, and he never quite knew what to do with himself around River. Too bored and nervous to wait, he'd pop out for secret adventures with River while the Ponds slept and adventures with the Ponds while River slept, and he certainly never stayed still long enough to be back before River woke.

 

"River," he reaches for her and doesn't let her turn away. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

 

Something in her smile wavers and his hearts clench as she searches his eyes, afraid to guess at what she finds there. "We tried this once before, my love; standing still. We're not suited to it, either of us."

 

"Then we'll run away together," the Doctor promises her with a kiss, sealing his lips to hers with all the determination in his being, his hands cradling her head. Their foreheads brush and their breaths mingle and their lips part on a sigh. "We suit each other."

 

River's hand strokes his cheek soothingly. "All right, Doctor. We'll try again."

 

"This time," the Doctor swears, "we'll get it right. I'll get it right." He doesn't know who he's trying to convince - River or himself - so he kisses her again to hide from the fear that he's lying.

 

...

 

He wanted this time to be perfect.

 

Of course, he'd already quarreled with her in a lecture, which had definitely not been part of the plan, so the Doctor makes his excuses to miss the next one, even though he hates the thought of spending any time without River. But she has young minds to mold, and he has to be careful. River knows him too well and she'll see through him if he clings to her the way he wants to, greedy for every stolen second with her.

 

River busses his cheek and promises to meet him in her office after her lecture.

 

It's a quick stop by the Dean's to give his hellos and revise his visiting lectureship, and the Doctor spends the rest of River's lecture hour carefully putting his plan into action.

 

Breakfast is all well and good, and they've had their share of grand gestures, but he wants something unmistakable without the pressure of saving the world or each other. He wants something that River would never expect - something doting and romantic and over the top.

 

Thankfully, her office is well stocked with writing supplies from nearly every century, and he promises himself he'll replace anything if she misses it. He doesn't dare go back to the TARDIS, lest she take off against his will to rectify this fluke in their timestreams, so he phones out for the rest of the necessary supplies as he writes.

 

He takes his time going through her office, noting the newer artifacts and books carefully organized on her shelves, the papers neatly stacked for marking beside an impressive assortment of electronics. Her desk is locked, deadlocked even, but he knows the bottom drawer is home to a terrifyingly complete assortment of weapons. There's a knife stuck in with her pens and a gun under a notebook in her top drawer.

 

The Doctor sighs - only a little bit fond - and sticks a note to the gun before closing the drawer back up.

 

Once he's certain everything is perfect, he checks his watch and resigns himself to waiting the long minutes for her lecture to end, giddy and nervous all at once.

 

On the most prominent bookshelf, the spines all read _River Song_.

 

The Doctor flicks through the titles. Most of her original work is housed safely on the TARDIS, set up in places of honor. There are histories and discoveries, compendiums and reviews. There are also a few titles the Doctor doesn't recognize, and he picks one at random, settling into River's chair to read his wife's history of all fifteen New York's.

 

He makes it all the way to the eleventh New York before the door to River's office clicks open. "Hello, dear," he grins up at her.

 

River is frozen in the doorway, taking in her office with a stunned expression that gives no hint as to whether or not she approves of his efforts. After a moment, she manages, "Anita, I believe I'm going to have to cancel my office hours today. Perhaps we could reschedule?"

 

Anita takes in River's office with wide eyes. Oh, Anita, so brave. And, at the moment, quite surprised. "Of course, Professor Song." She smiles and turns to leave, shutting the door behind her with a little wave. "Err... have a good evening!"

 

Scrambling to his feet, the Doctor scratches nervously at his cheek and glances around River's office, wondering if perhaps he got it all wrong. "River?"

 

"Oh, sweetie," she breathes at last, "what have you done?"

 

Setting down her book and fidgeting with the post-its the book covers, the Doctor watches River's slow advance warily. "Do you not like it?"

 

He backs into the bookcase, and River launches herself at him before he has time to escape. "You idiot," she kisses him fiercely, and he can't say as he minds the insult if that's part of her delivery. "You utterly ridiculous man. What is all this for?"

 

She reaches around him to pluck a post-it off of her bookshelf. It is titled: _reasons my wife is brilliant_ , and he had to write quite small across ten little squares to contain the full list.

 

"I just wanted to surprise you," the Doctor hedges, watching River's face closely as she reads. He's still not certain what to make of her reaction. It seems he always manages to bugger up his grand romantic plans.

 

But River doesn't leave his arms as she reaches for other notes, reading them each with rapt attention before carefully replacing them. "You succeeded." She smiles then, and her eyes are wide and shining and joyful. "It's wonderful, Doctor."

 

He grins tentatively, holding her close. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah." Her smile shifts cat-like into a smirk. "But where am I supposed to shag you senseless with sticky notes and flowers covering every conceivable surface?"

 

Well, he'd not exactly factored that reaction into his grand romantic plan. The Lunar Roses are rather in the way. "I'm sure we can come up with something."

 

"Mmm," River purrs, low and provocative, and the Doctor feels his stomach flip-flop as she shoves him down into her chair, sending it swiveling with her force as she climbs sinuously into his lap.

 

Her office chair is much wider than the seats in the lecture hall and she straddles him easily, though he hurries to grip the edge of the desk to stop them from spinning.

 

River's eyes flit across the various notes and love letters strewn about and the Doctor can tell she's itching to read them all. But River merely plucks up a handful of notes and drops them across their laps before reaching back unerringly for the coms on her desk, her free hand undoing the buttons to her blouse with practiced ease as the auto-lock clicks shut. "Andrea, hold any messages. I'll have to reschedule my office hours - something urgent has come up." She wiggles on his lap rather pointedly and the Doctor feels a hot blush spread up to his ears. "I'm not to be disturbed." And she doesn't wait for the affirmative before clicking the intercom off.

 

The Doctor lets his hands slide up her thighs and hips, hitching up her skirt as he does so. River rocks forward and the papers crinkle between them. "Are you going to read them?"

 

"Read them to me."

 

Her shirt is off and it's rather hard to argue as she unhooks her bra and tosses it away, shoving at his coat and giving him a positively wicked look.

 

The Doctor swallows and nods, prying one hand loose from the enticement of her skin to grab a post-it from the pile. He glances at it, but doesn't need to read it to know what it says - what any of them say. " _My Athena: wise and, honestly, a bit ferocious. Sorry about the weaving bit - that was something of an accident._ " He'd stuck it to a bit from the Parthenon, acting as a paperweight on River's desk. The note resting against her gun reads: _I've always loved a bad girl, me._

 

"I knew you had to have started that myth." Her hands are at his bowtie, deftly untying it.

 

"I knew you had to have inspired it." He's distracted by all her skin on display, shining golden like the goddess she is often accused of being. He cups her breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing over her already hard nipples.

 

River makes a pleased sound, his bowtie caught in her fist as she starts at the buttons to his shirt. "Though really, sweetie, the unmarried virgin bit was far less accurate than my ability to weave."

 

He has the grace to blush, again. It's a bit hard to argue the point with his wife not nearly naked enough on his lap. "You know how it is with oral histories - it all gets a bit jumbled by the time someone gets around to writing it all down."

 

He's already half lost his train of thought and River appears to have as well. "You're a bit jumbled, sweetie," she murmurs, shoving his shirt off his shoulders.

 

His response is lost in a rustle of clothing. They finish undressing in a bit of a hurry; notes spilling to the floor when River stands just long enough for them both to remove the last of their garments. The Doctor catches one note before it falls, sticking it over River's left heart: y _ou're more than I could ever imagine._ Over her right heart he presses: _my hearts are yours, always and completely._

 

River's eyes are wide and shining as she tilts his head up for a kiss that is both greedy and gentle, and so full of love that it's the Doctor who feels as though he might cry.

 

She climbs back onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling just over him without taking him inside her. Her teeth tug at his bottom lip as her hands card through his hair.

 

The Doctor kisses her back enthusiastically, slipping one hand between them until he can press his fingers to her clit. She's wet already, he can feel her warm and dripping over him, and he manages to stop from rocking his hips up against her only with difficulty.

 

With a shuddering breath, River presses closer to him, her bottom resting against his cock as she arches her hips toward his hand. He lets his lips trail to the side of her neck, kissing and sucking at her skin, marking her absolutely shamelessly while his fingers twirl around her clit with firm, sure strokes.

 

River arches her entire body, unlocking one arm from around his neck to reach for something he can't see, nearly setting them spinning again as she twists. He's too busy working his way to mouth at her breasts, carefully avoiding the post-its over her hearts.

 

"River Song is a Superhero - a brief list," she reads, haltingly, her voice positively sinful and her words interrupted by her increasing noises of pleasure as she rocks her hips and he works her over with his fingers.

 

The brief list took at least another dozen post-its to be contained. He lifts his mouth from her breasts long enough to glance up at her, amused. "I thought you wanted me to read those."

 

"I've decided there are far better uses for your mouth," River manages, "and hands." Her voice is breathless as she grips his arm, crushing the post-it between them. " _God, sweetie_ , don't stop."

 

Her breathless demand goes straight to his cock, and the Doctor shivers slightly, redoubling his efforts to bring her off. "I have been told I'm an excellent multitasker," he teases. "And I have no intention of stopping."

 

The angle is awkward with his wrist caught between them, but he bends his head to her breasts again, one hand at her clit and the other stroking across her sides and back and every bit of her he can reach.

 

It's worth it when his teeth graze River's nipple and she makes a hitching little moan, her thighs trembling over his and her nails digging into his skin. He slides his fingers down to dip into her wetness, his thumb still at her clit, but River shudders and catches his wrist with her hand, drawing it away from her as she rises up on her knees.

 

The Doctor steadies her instead with one hand at her hip, his other guiding his cock to her entrance. She's so wet that he nearly loses his control just at the feel of her, nipping perhaps a bit too hard at her breast and eliciting a surprised yelp. He starts to apologize, soothing the reddened skin with his tongue, but then River takes him inside her, slowly sinking down, and they're both left gasping and moaning, stripped utterly wordless.

 

Once he's fully inside the tight, wet, fluttering heat of her, the Doctor lifts his head to kiss her properly, their lips and tongues pressing together even as River shifts her hips and starts to rock against him. His hands tighten at her hips, urging her on, paper crinkling between them as she leverages her hands on his shoulders and bounces over him, breasts swaying enticingly, just brushing his chest when she rocks forward.

 

River tears her mouth from his, arching her back and increasing her pace, rising over him before sinking back down again and again, driving them both on with a relentless sort of pleasure that has him already on the edge, struggling not to trip over. He rocks his hips up to meet her thrusts, sweat beading between them and his entire body throbbing with need as she clenches around his cock with every stroke.

 

She's glorious, a proper goddess beyond the imaginings of mere mortals. Her curls are wild, her eyes blown wide with lust, her perfect breasts bouncing tantalizingly between them. She is amazing and dangerous and he cannot believe that he gets to have her, here, like this. That he somehow deserves these passionate, uninhibited moments between them. Or the love in her eyes as her hand cradles his jaw and brings his lips to hers for a deep, lingering kiss.

 

He crushes her to him, dragging her closer and rocking his hips faster. They're both close, bodies trembling and slick against one another, her breasts crushed between them and her moans swallowed in his mouth. The change in angle brushes River's clit against him with every stroke, and her moans increase in frequency and pitch. He grips her bum and thrusts up into her harder, rolling his hips with hers, each thrust coiling hot need and liquid desire between them.

 

They shift slightly until the angle is just so, and River tears her mouth from his with a scream as she comes, hard and fast, her nails cutting into his skin as her rhythm falters against the tide of her orgasm. The Doctor presses his lips to her neck and makes up their rhythm, barely managing to hold off his own orgasm until she's through hers, spilling inside her with a last shaky thrust.

 

They catch their breaths still wrapped up in one another's arms, their skin slick with sweat and their hearts racing. The Doctor is in no hurry to move, his face buried in River's hair as he presses languid kisses to her neck and shoulders.

 

River seems to be in no rush either, her hands stroking soothingly across his arms and back. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" she muses, her voice a scratchy, low purr. "It's going to take ages to dig out my office from under all this."

 

He lifts his head with effort but, when he looks at her, they're both grinning. He tightens his hold on her, lest she try to go anywhere, and bops her nose with his. "You like it."

 

Her nose wrinkles predictably. "I'm not the kind of woman to be won over with flowers and pretty words."

 

"You deserve them, though," he murmurs. He wishes he'd thought of this sooner - not just because of her enthusiastic response but because there's a slight flush to her cheeks that he thinks is more than just post-coital.

 

River rolls her eyes, though she looks secretly pleased. "I'm married to a hopeless romantic." She rescues a crumpled post-it from between them and sticks it to the center of his forehead with all the precision of the assassin she used to be.

 

It falls off again before he has a chance to remove it, its stickiness worn thin from the heat of their bodies. The Doctor waggles his eyebrows at River, basking in her playful mood. "What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

 

"You'll see what else I bring out in you, once I can move my legs," River mock-grumbles, her eyes still wide as she glances about her office.

 

"That doesn't even make any sense," the Doctor accuses, feeling a bit smug that he's managed to leave River the one off her game, for once, and never mind about earlier. River huffs at his teasing, shifting in his grasp. "Besides, who needs legs? Legs are rubbish. Let's never move again. I still have four hundred and eighty three post-its to read to you."

 

He eyes her hopefully and River sighs, settling back against him, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Maybe just a little while longer, then."

 

The Doctor picks up the nearest post-it and starts to read.

 

...


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, when he wakes in their bed and finds himself alone, cold dread trickles down the Doctor's spine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Beverly for glancing this over, and to anyone who is still reading this epic piece. I promise we're nearing the end, for better or worse.
> 
> Smut and angst and fluff, as it says on the tin.
> 
> With a special shout-outs to Pam because fic=hugs and to Bree - happy birthday, sweetie!!
> 
> Because nothing says "Happy Birthday!" in fandom like porn. Yes, I realize it said sorry last chapter. Porn is the gift that keeps on giving, y'all.

For a moment, when he wakes in their bed and finds himself alone, cold dread trickles down the Doctor's spine: the certain fear that he is still on the TARDIS and the last days and weeks have all just been a vivid, cruel dream. Gradually, the unmistakable environment of Luna becomes apparent, lurking in the artificial gravity and particles of recycled air.

 

The Doctor stumbles out of their bed, trying to ignore the pounding of his hearts as he searches for River.

 

He finds her curled into the sofa, staring blankly at a framed family photo - River, the Doctor and the Ponds - barely enough starlight to see by. Oh, how he misses his Ponds. Manhattan is long ago now, for both of them, but the ache never quite dulls.

 

The Doctor hesitates, debating whether or not to disturb her. River hates being caught in vulnerable moments. But he can't just leave her, knowing something is wrong. "River?"

 

"Go back to bed, sweetie, I'm fine," River replies automatically, not looking at him.

 

Even if he didn't already know something was wrong, her easy denial would be a dead giveaway. The Doctor scrubs a hand through his hair, tightens his dressing gown, and shuffles toward the sofa cautiously, not sure whether or not River will accept his presence.

 

When she doesn't move or acknowledge him further, the Doctor sighs and sinks down next to her. "Rule One."

 

At that River turns to him, her words deliberately baiting. "Oh, and what are you lying about now?"

 

"You're not fine," the Doctor gently corrects her. She's subdued and defensive and fragile, and it's, quite frankly, terrifying. He lets as much of that concern show as he dares, softening his voice and placing his hand over hers on the picture frame. "What's wrong?"

 

For a moment, he thinks he's done it all wrong. That River will pull away and put up her defenses again, still hiding the damage.

 

"It's just," River offers him a sharp smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "you've been so very young lately, sweetie, I'd started to wonder-" She cuts herself off with a shake of her head.

 

"Wonder what - River?"

 

"If I'd ever see my _husband_ again."

 

He pulls her closer, horrified. They're both so near to an ending that he doesn’t want to think about but sees every time he dares to close his eyes. So he keeps his eyes open, staring at River's voluminous curls. "Of course you will, River. I promise. It's not all back to front - not always. Not right now."

 

"You can't know that."

 

"Spoilers."

 

River narrows her eyes and then laughs, soft and surprised. "And here I thought we hadn't any of those left, my love."

 

The Doctor offers her a smile that doesn't touch the chill her words leave in his heart, hoping his teasing tone and the low light will fool her. "With you, River Song, there are always spoilers."

 

He must miss the mark though because River turns away, setting the picture face down on the table so she doesn't have to look at it. "You wouldn't have it any other way. You'd get bored."

 

He bristles at the quiet certainty in her tone, sitting up and looking her dead on. "Rubbish. I could never get bored with you, River. How can we have been married this long and you could doubt that? I _married_ you."

 

River shrugs, pointedly disbelieving. "You get married at the drop of a hat."

 

She's teasing him, of course. But he can't just grin and play along. Not tonight. Not here and now. Not when they're both clinging to versions of each other they're afraid they've already lost and River is accusing him of never caring in the first place. "That's not - not on _purpose_! You didn't trick me into marrying you. It wasn't a slip of the tongue or to save the universe." He's off the sofa and pacing now, agitated.

 

River watches him impassively, a sad look lingering about her. "Wasn't it all of those?"

 

"No." He comes back to her, stealing her hands in his and begging her to understand. "I made a choice. I'll always make that choice." His eyes catch on the overturned picture of the Ponds. "Back in Manhattan, with your parents... if it had been us instead: I'd choose you."

 

She looks at their hands instead of his eyes. "That's easy to say, my love."

 

"What do I have to do to prove it to you? I'll send the TARDIS off right now."

 

At that River snatches her hands away, twisting away from him on the sofa, her tone as sharp as a slap. "Oh, don't be melodramatic. It's the 51st century. You could catch her up easily."

 

Flopping back onto the sofa next to her, the Doctor scrubs his hands over his face and sighs, watching River as she pointedly avoids looking at him. She's picking a fight to hide from any vulnerability between them, but it chafes that she won't be that vulnerable with him, that she might genuinely believe her words. "Then pick somewhere, somewhen. Just you and I, River. The slow path - no spoilers ever again." He's pleading with her, begging her to believe him, to run away from the universe and its bloody _spoilers_ together.

 

"Then I choose here and now." He blinks at her suddenly soft tone, not quite sure what to make of it, and River sighs, all the fight bleeding out of her. "I've never needed grand gestures, Doctor. It's the little ones that count."

 

The Doctor offers her a wry smile, tentatively reaching out to tuck her back under his arm, genuinely relieved when she curls into him as easily as always. "Shame. I'm good at the grand gestures - bit rubbish at all the rest."

 

The tension of earlier is broken as quickly as it began, too much loss between them for them to do anything but cling to each other. River arches a teasing brow. "I've noticed."

 

"Oy - hush, you." He presses a kiss to her curls and tries to chase away the pit in his stomach that lingers from their row.

 

River tilts her head up until their lips are not quite brushing. The Doctor holds his breath, not daring to close the gap, and she huffs gently, her hands at his lapels. "Come here."

 

Her lips are warm and soft against his, chasing away vestiges of sleep and anger, of loneliness and loss. He finds forgiveness and absolution in her, as always, and he tries to pour his love and contrition into the press of his lips and stroke of his tongue against hers.

 

He lets River maneuver them as she likes, drawing him over her as she slides down the length of the sofa, never breaking their kisses.

 

They chose this sofa together when she first bought her flat. Long enough to fit his lanky limbs and wide enough for the two of them to curl up next to each other watching vids or reading.

 

It's not quite long enough for what he has in mind though.

 

He slides off the sofa with a thud as his knees hit the floor, undoing the ties to River's dressing gown and rucking up her silken nightgown as he goes. She doesn't wear any knickers when she sleeps, which leaves her bare under his admiring gaze.

 

River rests the sole of one foot on his shoulder and the other on the sofa cushions as he trails kisses along the soft, warm skin of her stomach and thighs before settling between her legs.

 

She hums approvingly, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.

 

There's something heavenly about being between River's thighs, about the way she moans and writhes as he works his lips and tongue over the sensitive skin of her sex. She still tastes like home and time, but sharper somehow, dangerous, as though he can taste her recent anger even here.

 

He buries his tongue inside her, nose bumping her clit as he searches for the source of everything that is _River_. For all the spots that make her keen and moan and tighten around his tongue, her inner muscles pulsing and throbbing as he strokes them.

 

Her foot slides on the fabric of his pajama top and he catches her thighs in his hands, dragging her closer and spreading her wider. The angle allows him to explore her further, driving his tongue deeper and probing meticulously until she starts to shudder under his ministrations, making those needy half-staunched sounds that always prelude a scream.

 

The taste of her flares against his tongue, sharp and urgent, and the Doctor devours her greedily, face buried between her thighs and tongue buried inside her. He mapped her inside out long ago - all the spots that make her breath quicken and her thighs shake. Her moans sharpen, cracking just shy of a scream as she shatters around him, a new rush of her drenching his mouth in her scent.

 

He's still indulging in her with slow licks - careful lest she be oversensitive - when River bends neatly forward and hauls him up by his hair, surprisingly gentle as they shuffle back onto the sofa.

 

Her breathing is still heavy under his chest, her nightgown scrunched up between them. River doesn't bother to catch her breath before claiming his mouth for her own, licking her borrowed taste from his lips and tongue.

 

The Doctor trails his hands in a more leisurely, reverse path, up her thighs and over her stomach, slipping under her nightgown to caress her breasts, nipples already hard and sensitive under his fingertips.

 

River hooks her toes under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, shoving them down with ruthless and practiced efficiency, her hands already undoing the buttons of his top. They scramble to finish doffing the rest of their clothing without tumbling off the sofa. It's a near thing for the Doctor, but River saves him twice, hooking one leg around his waist for good measure.

 

She uses that leg to draw him closer once they're both starkers, the Doctor settling over her without the slightest hesitation.

 

"Don't be cross," he can't resist, shifting between her legs and fighting against a ridiculous grin, "but I do have one more, er, big thing for you."

 

River rolls her eyes, deadpanning, "Is it majestic?"

 

Huffing, the Doctor makes to pull back, but River tightens her legs around his waist. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? I said that one time, and I blame those little yellow drinks on Cantuna that you _said_ -"

 

"Oh, _shut up_."

 

She doesn't give him any more time to tease or protest, shifting her hips until her sex grips the head of his cock, engulfing him in the wet heat of her.

 

The Doctor lets out a strangled groan, burying himself in her with an involuntary thrust that leaves them both gasping. He braces his feet against one arm of the sofa and his hand against the other as he starts to thrust in earnest, River's arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers carding through his hair.

 

There's almost no space between them as they move together, her breasts brushing his chest and her curls tickling his arms.

 

He keeps his eyes on River - hers wide and dark, with just the slightest ring of green around the edges, her lips parted on a gasp and cheeks suffused with color.

 

They move together in an unhurried rhythm; long, deep thrusts that leave them both gasping and clutching at the sofa and each other. It's rare for them, to be unhurried. It feels somehow more intimate, for all their earlier teasing and row, something more open in the way they watch each other, seeking out the emotions they'd hidden behind their words.

  
There's an apology there, as well, in the fleeting kisses they press against each other's skin; the soft scratch of River's nails at the nape of his neck; the slide of their bodies against one another with each delicious, agonizingly slow thrust.

 

The Doctor's fingers tangle in the soft grip of River's curls as he brushes her hair out of her eyes, cupping the curve of her jaw in one hand and stroking his thumb across her cheek.

 

River's eyes widen and soften, searching his, her nose scrunching as though he's bopped it or she's embarrassed. He answers the question in her gaze with a lingering kiss, parting her lips with his tongue until she grants him entrance.

 

The heat between them builds slowly into an inferno, the friction almost unbearable. River's legs tighten around him and she arches her back, the angle pressing her breasts tighter against his chest and allowing him deeper egress with each roll of their hips.

 

His body is strung taut with the effort of keeping their slow pace and not giving in to the blissful oblivion waiting just beyond reach. The Doctor slides his free hand between them, fingers sliding across River's clit until she tears her mouth from his to catch her breath around needy moans.

 

Pressing kisses against the exposed line of her jaw where his palm was, the Doctor drives them both steadily closer to the edge, single-minded in his pursuit of River's pleasure.

 

River releases one hand from her grip around his neck and he's momentarily surprised when she slides it over her head. She pries his fingers free from the arm of the sofa and wraps them around hers instead, her grip strong enough to balance both of them.

 

The Doctor lifts his head just enough to catch her expression, melting at the determined smile gracing her lips.

 

He kisses her again then, holding onto her hand to ground him as their bodies tremble and strain together. They come almost as one, moaning against one another's lips as the pleasure builds to a crescendo and snaps, leaving them gasping and shuddering together.

 

They lay there for long moments in the quiet of their living room, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts splayed out upon the sofa they chose.

 

It's an old cliché to use sex to solve a row, and the Doctor is too old to believe in clichés. He eases himself off of River, standing and offering her his hand, suddenly nervous that she'll rebuff him.

 

When she takes it, her hand is small and warm and firm against his. She doesn't let go. A small moment. "Let's go back to bed, sweetie."

 

He squeezes her hand as she leads them to their bedroom, his hearts feeling lighter than they have in ages.

 

...


	19. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Good, you're awake!" He offers River the mug and then promptly catches her wrist and drags her out of bed. "I have a surprise for you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a break from our regularly scheduled trifecta of angst, smut and fluff, I present: smut and fluff. Wild departure, I know.
> 
> Thanks to Beverly for the encouragement and glancing it over!

The Doctor wakes before River, as he often does. He sleeps better with River than without her, but he hates to waste their time together on sleep. Not that it's a waste, exactly - her mind nestles next to his in their dreams, leaving an indelible imprint.

 

But he prefers the reality of her hand in his to nebulous dreams of her - he dreams of her often enough when he's alone and it never quite lives up to the magic of her awake.

 

Still, he's not so impatient as to wake her - well, not _always_ \- so the Doctor takes his time dressing and fixing her tea the way she likes it. Eventually, River's eyes flutter open - hopefully not entirely because he's just tripped into the bedside table and nearly upended her tea all over himself.

 

"Good, you're awake!" He offers River the mug and then promptly catches her wrist and drags her out of bed. "I have a surprise for you!"

 

She goes along willingly enough, shifting her tea to her other hand to sip and eyeing him with amusement as he leads her to the TARDIS. "Good morning to you too, sweetie. Do I at least get to change?"

 

Pausing, the Doctor turns to River, feeling slightly contrite. She's barefoot, dressed only in her nightgown - and River's nightgowns barely tend to qualify as clothing. He thinks she selects them specifically based on their likelihood of giving him heart attacks on sight. She tugs at his hand and the Doctor steps into her willingly enough, ducking his head as she stretches up onto her tiptoes for a kiss. She tastes like the tea he made her: honey and jasmine. "Morning, dear."

 

"Mmm, that's better." River leans into him rather than pulling away, resting one hand over his bowtie as she drinks her tea. "I'll find something in the wardrobe. Now, what was this about a surprise?"

 

He'd almost forgotten with her pressed up against him, half-naked and still sleep-rumpled. Her hair is positively wild and the Doctor takes the opportunity to boing one of the more adventurous curls that is standing straight up. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you."

 

"Calderon Beta again?" River guesses, thoroughly unimpressed. "I actually will be impressed if you find a spot we've not already been."

 

River settles casually in the jumpseat, legs crossed so that her nightgown rides even higher up her thighs and one eyebrow arched knowingly as she sips her tea.

  
"Honestly, River, it's a _surprise_."

 

She rolls her eyes, watching him putter about the console. "Well, if you need suggestions, how about Darillium? You've been promising to take me to hear the Towers sing for ages."

 

It's a relief that he's facing the console so he has a moment to compose himself at the mention of that place. "I don't need suggestions!" He softens his voice at River's sharp look. "I already know where we're going and it's better than some boring old towers."

 

River slips off the jumpseat, apparently wide awake and already reaching around him to do something that he can't quite see to the controls, ignoring his frown. She watches him closely over the rim of her tea, but the Doctor is careful to hide every last trace of his agony over Darillium. "If you say so, sweetie. But maybe you should let me drive, just in case?"

 

The Doctor waggles his finger at her as he moves around the console, matching her mocking with the long practice that marriage brings. "I still have a thing or two to show you, Professor Song."

 

"Only two?" River laughs as he sputters indignantly.

 

"For you, dear, eleven."

 

Laughter fading at his phrasing, River's eyes sparkle as she sways closer, lips quirked up. "Eleven? Really?"

 

"Mmm," the Doctor nods, abandoning the controls to smirk at River, feeling his voice drop. "Or twelve."

 

"Stop it."

 

It's the farthest thing from an admonition. The Doctor settles one hand over River's hip to draw her closer, stealing her tea with his other to set out of the way on the console. "Make me."

 

The words are barely out of his mouth before River's closes over his, her hands clutching his lapels to drag him closer.

 

He goes willingly, of course, helpless but to lean into her, drawing her closer with his hands at her hips. Her nightgown rides up until the tips of his fingers brush across the delectable skin of her thighs, and the Doctor exhales a moan as her honeyed tongue sweeps into his mouth.

 

It's almost impossible to pull away from her when River makes a pleased noise and shifts closer, but he's on a mission and he's not about to be distracted by the minx that is his wife, even if it kills him. Knowing River, it probably will. The Doctor indulges in a last heated kiss before straightening, his hands smoothing River's nightgown down because he can't quite bring himself to take them off her just yet. "We're here."

 

There's less fanfare with that announcement than usual, since River turned off the brakes and she knows as well as he does that they've landed.

 

She arches one eyebrow at him, reaching behind her to set the parking brake. "Still not going to tell me where _here_ is?"

 

"Well I'm hardly going to spoil the surprise when it's right outside, now am I?"

 

River huffs in that adorable way she does when she doesn't get her way. "Oh well, I guess I'd better get dressed then." And she steps neatly out of his grasp before he can think to protest. "Unless this is the kind of surprise that involves lingerie?"

 

He'd forgotten a bit about that part. The Doctor waves her away. "None of that now - hurry up and go change." He almost thinks he succeeds at not sounding as put out as he is to see her nightgown go, but the blush that he can feel warming his ears surely gives him away.

 

As soon as River disappears in the direction of the wardrobe, the Doctor descends under the console to change into the suit he set out earlier. A top hat and tails would have been too obvious of a giveaway, but he can't resist the way River's eyes light up when he wears them for their dates.

 

He knows exactly how long it takes River to get ready from long practice, so he changes quickly, shoving his usual outfit into the chest under the console and sparing a parting pang of longing at the sight of his old tweed, tucked away in its darker recesses.

 

With a last check of his reflection, he gathers up the supplies he set aside earlier and ducks out of the TARDIS to set everything up.

 

He's back inside and leaning casually against the railing, trying not to fidget with his suit or top hat, when River returns. He glances up at the click of her heels and freezes, struck momentarily mute by his wife, as always.

 

She's wearing a black gown, made from some light material that sweeps effortlessly down to the red heels that he's always favored. Her shoulders are bare for once, the gown cut in a sweetheart neckline that makes him swallow hard and have to fight to drag his eyes up to her only slightly tamed curls and wickedly smirking red lips.

 

Apparently he's been staring too long because River's smirk grows even more devious. "How do I look?"

 

He watches her sway closer, entranced. "Amazing."

 

Pleased, River steps into him, reaching up to straighten his top hat and looking like she is considering snogging him again. "I was going to wear the green dress you love, but Sexy was quite adamant. I did wear your favorite shoes."

 

The Doctor has to swallow back a nauseated feeling at the reminder of the last time he wore tails and she wore that green dress. He can feel a fixed point forcing words to his tongue. "Wear it next time."

 

River glances at him, but the tone of his voice could be mistaken for nostalgic and he quickly takes her hand to distract her, hurrying them both out of the TARDIS before he can dwell too long on memories of Darillium.

 

They step out onto Stardust - the planet, though it won't be named that for a million years yet - the bioluminescent sand lighting up under their footsteps like the stars of its namesake. There've landed where the shore meets an inky black pond, the liquid that passes for water here just dense enough to support their weight. A large white blanket gleams next to the shore, the soft weight of it enough to set the pond aglow. A quartet of blue moons dot the sky above them, bathing them in a muted blue light. They're the only other beings on a planet that was old when it started - mountains collapsed to sand even as they formed - and will be older still when it begins.

 

River glances between the blanket and picnic basket and the lights flaring and fading under their feet, clearly impressed even if she's trying to hide her excitement. "This is - sweetie, where are we?"

 

The Doctor squeezes her hand. "Isn't it just?" And they're grinning at each other like fools as they make their way to the pond. "We're on Stardust at its very beginning. It only just converted its atmosphere to oxygen - we're the only sentient beings here. Just rocks and microbes and dust and us."

 

The pond is a bit like a waterbed, if it were more spongey and denser and gelatinous - so not at all like a waterbed, actually. River slides off her shoes the second she settles on the blanket, flexing her toes and tucking her knees under her - she only ever wears heels for effect or when she's tired of their height difference, which hardly matters when they're sitting down. "Should we even be here, Doctor? What if we change something?" She dips her finger in the obsidian dark of the pond and it illuminates around her.

 

"Oh we definitely shouldn't be here," the Doctor agrees. There are good reasons not to go to the beginning or ending of places, but neither of them have ever been very good at following the rules. He reclines back and opens the basket, drawing out the picnic food he prepared, complete with fizzy drinks and champagne for River. "Have you ever been to Stardust, once it's established? The inhabitants are the most stunning shade of ruby." He glances pointedly at her shoes. "And their hair, well..."

 

River bites her lip at his teasing, her glower far too pleased to be convincing. "Oh, shut up."

 

Blood racing, the Doctor watches River from underneath his fringe and flirts right back. "Make me."

 

The atmosphere is charged here, nascent life dancing in the very air between them. River licks her lips and promises, "Careful or I will."

 

"No time like the present."

 

She's gorgeous, lit from above in the blue light of four moons and from below by the muted white bioluminescence, her dress the perfect black to match the pond. She glances up at him, eyes sparkling with delight, and it's absolutely impossible not to close the distance between them and kiss her. River meets his lips eagerly, mouth opening under his with a little moan of pleasure, and he forgets all about the picnic he'd planned in favor of pressing her back against the blanket, his hand already dragging her skirt up until he can run his palm across her thigh.

 

The Doctor settles next to her, balancing on one arm where he can watch her and kiss her even as his fingers inch higher up the creamy soft skin of her inner thighs, River obligingly letting them splay wide. He wanted to draw this out - he had an entire picnic packed - but he finds he's in no mood to tease when River gives him a sultry look and hauls him closer with a greedy moan, his top hat tumbling off somewhere.

 

They're the only sentient beings on this entire planet - she can be as loud as she likes here. And oh, he wants to hear her - to sear every gasp and whimper and scream onto his hearts for safekeeping. River - wild and uninhibited and _his_ , even if just for this moment.

 

His fingers reach her sex, already slick when he parts her folds to press one finger inside her, his thumb circling her clit. She's not wearing any knickers - his bad girl.

 

" _Sweetie_ ," River keens, encouraging.

 

The Doctor nudges her further back against the blanket, soft waves rocking them with the movement. He trails kisses down her jaw and collarbone and the swell of her breasts, listening to her hearts race as his hand incrementally increases speed and pressure. He slides a second finger into her wetness and River makes the most sinful sound, one hand clutching at the blanket and the other buried in his hair.

 

"Oh, shut up," she manages, voice low and breathless already.

 

He lifts his head to regard her lust-dazed expression. "I didn't say anything, dear."

 

"I could hear you smirking."

 

Well he can't deny that. Instead the Doctor buries his smirk against her breasts, redoubling the pace of his fingers until River is too busy moaning to mind if he's a bit smug.

 

He can't help the way her body responds to him, or the time he's spent devoting himself to mastering every way to make her scream with his hands or mouth or cock. Once he brought her off with just his voice, growling filthy promises in her ear.

 

She still makes him blush when she teases him, but only because now he has vivid memories of every time he's made her scream, no _spoilers_ required.

 

The Doctor curls his fingers up, pressing his thumb hard over her clit and River shudders and comes apart with a wordless scream.

 

Only that's not nearly what he wants. He feels starved for her every whimper and moan, but mostly for her screams. He presses harder, adding a third finger, driving her right from one orgasm into the next.

 

River curses vividly, nails digging into his scalp. She's practically glowing when he lifts his head to commit her to memory. The ends of her hair have tumbled off the blanket and are alight where they touch the inky black of the pond as she tosses her head, wild.

 

It's not quite a scream that cracks her voice this time, and he'd keep going but River's grip on him tightens, her hand lifting from the blanket to wrap firmly around his wrist. She kisses him with a thoroughness that leaves his head spinning as he settles all too willingly over her.

 

River's clever hands undo his trousers and draw him out, stroking teasingly along his length until his eyes fall shut on a shudder. When he struggles to open them again, it's River who is smirking.

 

The Doctor licks his lips, drawn to hers, helpless in her grip. "We have all night." He traces the neckline of her dress with his index finger, wet against her skin. "I'm going to take my time undressing you, inch by inch. With just my mouth."

 

River's eyes darken. "Later. Now shut up and get inside me, Doctor."

 

As usual, there's no arguing with River Song when she's made up her mind.

 

He sinks into the blissful heat of her with a sound that might be a whimper. River hitches her leg over his hip, her dress still caught between them and her every movement leaving her body glowing with the pond light filtering through the blanket.

 

It's hard to keep his balance with the shifting water beneath them, so the Doctor grips River instead, one hand at her thigh and the other threaded through her wild curls. River moves with the current, rocking her hips up against his until his world narrows to the feel of her body under and engulfing his.

 

They find a rhythm that leaves them both struggling to catch their breaths between moans, each thrust driving them closer. River's hands snake under his coat, digging into his bottom and sides.

 

They're both barely even undressed yet; there's no rush. The Doctor wants to take all the time in the world here - with River. She is stunning in the soft light, curls wild and face suffused with pleasure. He could spend an eternity in this moment, watching her fall apart around him.

 

"River," he starts, searching for the words to capture what she means to him - what she's always meant to him.

 

But their weight shifts just enough that his next thrust drives him impossibly deeper, leaving them both gasping at the sensation, and he forgets what he meant to say entirely, lost in River's scorching depths.

 

River hitches her leg higher and he helps her slide it over his arm, pressing closer until he knows his abdomen is brushing her clit with every thrust by the breathy keening sound she makes. Her hands are everywhere; skimming his back and shoulders, brushing his hair from his face.

 

There's too much clothing in the way, and they don't exactly have a firm surface to brace against, but River manages to lift her head and catch him in a soft, tender kiss.

 

He's utterly gone on her, lost in her, cradled between her thighs and buried inside her. He rolls his hips until his cock nudges that spot that makes River tear her lips from his on a ragged gasp, body arching up against his. The Doctor presses his lips to the swell of her breasts, the hollow of her neck, her skin tinged with the salt of her sweat and the musk of sex.

  
River's muscles quiver and clench around him. The Doctor wants desperately to drag this out, but she always feels more heavenly than he can ever imagine until he's inside her, and he's rapidly approaching the edge of perfect bliss.

 

Whereas so often they're clutching desperately at each other, there's something gentle in River's touch as her fingers card through his hair and stroke down his back, even as their thrusts gain urgency. River's moans pitch higher and her entire body urges him faster with each roll against his. He can feel how close she is, body quivering and sex gripping at him, dragging him back every time he pulls away.

 

The Doctor slides his free hand between them, thumb circling her clit, teeth grazing across her breasts, and River shatters with a scream that echoes one right into the next. He doesn't let her come down, fingers slipping across her skin as he tightens his hold on her leg and increases the speed of his thrusts. He's losing his rhythm, caught up in her grip, her voice echoing in his ears.

 

He doesn't last much longer, his hips jerking helplessly into her demanding heat, pleasure tight and exploding behind his eyelids. He muffles a ragged groan into her chest as he spills himself inside her, the frantic motions of their bodies reaching a gasping crescendo.

 

The silence around them is deafening without River's silky moans echoing in his ears.

 

He lifts his head to grin at her, collapsed comfortably into her welcoming curves.

 

River brushes his fringe out of his face, eyes fond and cheeks flushed. "Quite the evening already, Doctor. I'm thoroughly enjoying my surprise."

 

"Oh, that's not the surprise," the Doctor does a quick mental check of the time, but he can feel by the air that they haven't missed it. Still, he shoves himself regretfully off of River, pulling down her dress and putting out his arm for her.

 

"It's not?"

 

River curls into him, her head on his arm. They settle there on their backs, lulled by the gentle roll of the pond and staring up at the sky.

 

The Doctor can't resist trailing one finger across the entirely too enticing neckline of River's dress again, smirking. "No, it's not. And since you didn't bother with knickers, Professor, I very much doubt you were all that surprised."

 

It's River's turn to give him a sly look. "Not that I'm complaining, sweetie, but you didn't have to drag me to an empty planet for a shag. I soundproofed the flat ages ago."

 

"Hush," he blushes, reminded of exactly how useful that soundproofing has been, and tears his eyes from River to glance at the nearly perfect line of the blue moons. "Patience."

 

River huffs, but settles more comfortably against him, batting his hand away from her chest. He doesn't blame her for being impatient, but he'd timed this for a picnic - oh, he's forgotten all about their picnic and it's probably half dotting the pond by now. He'll worry about that later - right now he's more concerned about getting her out of that dress.

 

The quartet of blue moons shift ever so slightly into alignment and the whole world flares to life around them. Dust and sand and particles in the air burst and spark until they're surrounded by tiny specks of new life, dancing in the moonlight.

 

He hears River's surprised inhale next to him and he turns to watch her face, radiant in the light. There's a whole world coming to life, every molecule of the planet quivering with potential, and they're the only ones to see it. Stardust, being born.

 

Just a moment and the light fades, the particles dividing and the planet shifting into its new era. The Doctor grins, a giddy giggle escaping. "Well? What do you think?"

 

River beams up at him, smile brighter than the four moons and voice hushed with a quiet reverence. Her fingers lace through his. For this one night, they have all the time in the world. "Oh, my love. It's perfect."

 

...


	20. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that the rumors about them never really stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long! I think a part of me was reluctant to finish this fic after so long. More parts of me have just been hellaciously busy.
> 
> Huge thanks to Beverly and Becs for making sure I make any sense at all with these, and to Sandy (Sandbar) for the unfailing encouragement!
> 
> THE GOOD NEWS: Chapter 20 is already written. Chapter 21 is coming along. The goal is to be finished before the new year (maybe even by Christmas).
> 
> Now onward to the fluff and smut and angst, as promised on the tin.

It turns out that the rumors about them never really stop. He catches whispers in the hallways and at faculty dinners - conversations that fade away when he draws too near.

 

He's not narcissistic enough to think the rumors are all to do with him. River's been an enigma in her own right since she started at Luna - fresh out of prison and mysteriously pardoned for killing a man who didn't exist. The same woman who takes frequent archaeological sabbaticals to places most wouldn't dare and returns with anachronistic souvenirs and a husband she doesn't mention until he turns up unannounced in her lecture.

 

Since his last visit, the rumors have only increased. Hushed whispers of time travel and the time agency.

 

Normally, the Doctor would be content to ignore them. There are scores of legends and stories of him and River - together and apart - what are a few more?

 

It becomes a bit more difficult once a determined group of students start flocking to both of their lectures, hovering by the doors and hoping to catch something salacious.

 

Particularly when the salacious bits they do catch tend to be his and River's _in flagrante_ between lectures.

 

The Doctor hides behind the podium, struggling to do up his trousers and listening to the giggles coming from behind the closed door. "This is all your fault."

 

"My fault," River gasps, incredulous, as she fixes her smudged lipstick and attempts to tame her hair. "How is this my fault, exactly?"

 

He winces as he snaps his braces into place a touch too vigorously, bending for his waistcoat and hissing, "You're the one who told the entire department that I was a Time Agent!"

 

Giving up on her hair, River tucks away her lipstick and returns to straightening her clothing, glaring at him. "I wouldn't have had to if you could ever manage to just _shut up_ , Doctor!"

 

He can't resist smirking and pointing out, "I'm not the one they just heard screaming. Such a filthy mouth, Professor."

 

River's glare softens into something quite filthy indeed. "You love it."

 

They've inched closer again. The Doctor finds himself caught between River and the podium. "Of course I do. Love a bad girl, me." He's halfway hard again already, a near permanent state around his wife, not that he minds, but this is hardly the time or place. He's not quite sure how he lets River talk him into these public escapades in the first place though it's long past denying that he likes it.

 

A new round of muffled giggling echoes outside. The Doctor frowns and River steps back reluctantly, glaring at the closed door.

 

"They can't actually hear us, can they?" he hisses urgently, feeling his cheeks heat as he quickly pulls on his frockcoat.

 

He shoves his papers haphazardly in his case - he'll sort them out later - and glances at his watch uneasily. They still have time before the next lecture, which means their fan club has no reason to disperse at this point. He uses his case to cover the state his wife always seems to leave him in, hoping it's not exceedingly obvious.

  
"No, of course not," River promises, smirking at the placement of his case in a way that says it _is_ exceedingly obvious. "They're probably just retelling the tale of your bare arse peeking out from behind the podium."

 

" _River_!" he scolds, feeling his ears and neck heat as she laughs. "Not helping."

 

Ignoring his protest, River takes his arm demurely, as though they hadn't just been caught shagging. "I wasn't trying to help, sweetie."

 

She's never this calm when they get caught out at her lectures, but apparently it's infinitely amusing when it's one of _his_.

 

Of course, she's not the one who has office hours scheduled. "And I suppose I'm supposed to come up with our escape plan?"

 

River arches one eyebrow. "Or we could just walk out and ignore them, sweetie. They're just enamored students." She relents when he starts to turn red again. "Or we could take the equipment exit. I doubt security will mind at this point."

 

"Security?!"

 

"Did I not mention the security cameras?"

 

He nearly chokes. " _River!_ "

 

River laughs, thumping him on the back until he starts breathing again. "Oh don't worry, I looped the video feeds for my lectures ages ago."

 

"Well that's a - wait, what about _my_ lectures?" She laughs again, twirling away with that indecipherable smile. The Doctor swallows hard, recalling the variety of rooms in the university they've made use of for less than academic purposes, and makes a mental note to erase the entirety of the university's security footage archive. "River - what about my lectures!?"

 

Typically enigmatic, River refuses to answer - deriving entirely too much fun at his expense.

 

As they walk through the halls, the Doctor surreptitiously uses his sonic to disable or loop every camera they come across, suddenly on heightened alert for the telltale hum of 51st century electronics.

 

By the time they turn toward his office he's almost certain that River was only teasing... she's not _quite_ that much of an exhibitionist - at least, not at work. Not usually.

 

There's a crowd of students already waiting at his office, of course. Normally his office hours are dull and quiet and he quickly escapes them in search of River. But lately their crowd of admirers has kept him penned in and irritable; any time without River is a sacrilege that the Doctor is not prepared to endure. He freezes, glancing helplessly at River, at a loss for how to evade the students now that they've clearly been spotted rounding the corner.

 

River simply marches right through the assembled students with a smirk and a firm grip on his arm. "I'm afraid something has come up that requires the Doctor's urgent attention. You understand, I'm sure."

 

He really ought to check if the students have actual questions. He could meet River in her office in a few minutes. Yes, that's definitely what he ought to do. The Doctor straightens his bowtie and offers an apologetic grimace in lieu of the silly grin that always threatens when River's near. "Professor Song has priority, sorry. We'll just be a mo'."

 

Feigning remorse while surreptitiously unlocking his office, River purses her lips, her eyes alight with mischief, "Actually, it's a complex situation that will require strenuous effort and finesse to bring fully to completion. It might take quite a lengthy amount of time, depending. Probably best to try again tomorrow, dears."

 

When she winks at him, the Doctor gives in entirely. "Right. Of course. Er - I'll send out revised office hours for tomorrow... er... tomorrow."

 

He barely has time to finish the sentence before River is dragging him inside his office, slamming the door firmly shut behind them and reengaging the lock.

 

"Liar," he accuses, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed.

 

"What? Something did come up," one of River's hands cups him through his trousers to prove her point. "And _I_ require your attention, _urgently._ "

 

The Doctor closes the distance between them, promising, "You always have my full attention, dear," and relishes her pleased inhale as he takes her head in his hands and presses his lips to hers.

 

River's mouth opens instantly under his, even as she tugs him backwards with her, her clever hands already undoing his trousers and waistcoat. He helps her by shrugging off his frockcoat and sliding his hands down to unbutton her blouse, his fingers tripping over themselves in his haste.

 

They hit his desk still stepping out of their clothing, lips greedily entwined. River makes a noise of frustration and wiggles out of her skirt, hopping onto his desk and drawing him between her bared legs, her hands wrapped around the ends of his bowtie.

 

The Doctor forgets all about his marking, pressing River back against the desk with a needy whinge and struggling out of his boots and trousers with her assistance. He tears his mouth from hers long enough to nip his way down to her breasts, taking one nipple roughly between his teeth and relishing River's keening moan.

 

His shirt is the last to go, his bowtie wrapped safely around River's wrist. He catches her hand in his and pushes it back against the desk, something he can't be bothered to care about crashing to the floor in their wake.

 

River wraps her legs around his waist to draw him closer, her free hand stroking his cock. "Well go on then, Doctor. _Attend_ to me."

 

"So impatient, Professor," he teases. He's of half a mind to spend even longer on foreplay after their rush in his lecture hall and a bit as punishment for her teasing - at least, he hopes it was teasing - about the cameras.

 

But River guides his cock to her entrance, rubbing the head across her wet, swollen folds, and it's the Doctor's turn to moan, all thoughts of going slowly evaporating in an instant. He nips harshly at her breast in retaliation as his hips buck helplessly into her. She's so hot and tight that it's hard to breathe for the feel of her. The Doctor lifts his head from her beasts to watch her face as he slowly presses inside her.

 

Making a desperate noise of approval, eyes dark and lips parted, River manages, "I know. You'd think that there were students waiting just outside, with every idea of exactly what we're up to."

 

He shouldn't like that but River makes it impossible to do anything but groan helplessly and start thrusting in earnest, too gone on her to care if they were shagging in front of the Shadow Proclamation itself - which had only happened that once. "Mmm," he mumbles, pressing biting kisses across her chest and neck, "they'll certainly have a pretty good idea with how loud you are."

 

"Is that a challenge?" River leans back until she's splayed across his small desk, papers rustling beneath her.

 

The Doctor shudders when the change of angle drives him even deeper inside her, one of his hands caught in her grip and the other pressing her leg back. "It's a promise."

 

He shifts forward on his next thrust until he can seal that promise with a kiss.

 

River's free hand grips his bum, urging him faster; her toes curl around the edge of his desk, her other foot up by her ear. The Doctor stretches their joint hands over her head until they can grip the other edge of the desk, the silk of his bowtie rubbing across their wrists as he tries to keep them steady in the mess of papers and knick-knacks. Her breasts slide against his chest with their every breath and thrust, and he can hear her hearts racing against his before he even breaks their kiss, ducking his head to lick and nuzzle her neck, tasting the sweat already gathered there.

 

River's breath hitches with a high-pitched keen that promises she'll be screaming shortly. The Doctor rolls his hips against hers so that his abdomen rubs her clit with every forward stroke, and River's nails leave a trail across his back as she bites her lip and tries to keep quiet.

 

They both know it will never last.

 

The Doctor can't help a low chuckle at her stubbornness, his lips at her ear. They're both so wound up already that she shivers at the sound, her pulse racing double-time. He keeps a fast, deep rhythm and River meets his every thrust with a sinuous roll of her hips, her lip still caught between her teeth.

 

He steals another kiss, soothing her injured lip with his tongue and tasting the coppery tang of her blood. River muffles her moans into his mouth instead, drawing him impossibly closer in her urgency. Their foreheads touch and their bodies slide together, sweat slicking their skin. It's almost too much already, the kind of too much that is impossible to give up, and the Doctor can feel his control fraying every time he presses into her slick heat.

 

They're both so close that he can feel it, her sex gripping him tightly and her thigh quivering under his hand. Her fingers trail down his spine and it's the Doctor's turn to shiver and break their kiss to catch his breath.

 

He watches River's dark eyes and swollen lips instead, memorizing her expression of near bliss. Her breath is ragged, hitching on moans that she swallows back with a wickedly challenging smirk.

 

The Doctor's head drops to River's neck with a groan, her curls engulfing him with their soft, teasing strands that smell of the vortex and her perfume. He kisses and nips his way back up her neck and jaw until his lips reach her ear, his voice dropped deliberately low. "Come now, River, let me hear you. _Doctor's orders_."

 

River's entire body goes tight and still at his words, trembling just as she trips over the edge of her orgasm with a moan that cracks at the edges.

 

The Doctor forces his rhythm to hold steady, his own body tightly coiled with lust and his cock aching as her walls flutter and clench around him. He drives them higher, until they're both trembling and moaning and she's so close to another orgasm that he can feel it. "That's my girl."

 

This time, the hoarse moan that tears itself from River's throat is raw like her scream. She wraps her leg around his waist and draws him closer, deeper, her voice ringing in his ears as he leaps over the edge after her, the universe fading away and leaving only the heat of them bound up together as one.

 

When the universe reasserts its existence, it takes the Doctor a moment to remember where he is. They're collapsed over his desk, still tangled up together. The Doctor carefully eases off of River, never letting go of her hand, and she stretches luxuriously, looking thoroughly debauched. Papers crackle and shift as they move, and the Doctor groggily realizes that his marking and notes are scattered across his desk and the floor, every bit as debauched as River and the Doctor.

 

It takes another moment to realize the hallway beyond his office is suspiciously silent. He clears his throat, scratching at his cheek with his free hand. "I think they've gone."

 

"Well, we gave them quite a show," River's lips curve into an utterly satisfied, completely unrepentant smile.

 

Not that the Doctor can find himself regretting the use of his office hours. River is far more important than any marking or the inevitable rumors that will follow. She's the most important person in the universe. He strokes his thumb over the bowtie at her wrist. "I suppose I'll have to take a crack at explaining myself to the Dean this time."

 

River's smirk is positively glowing. "Oh, absolutely, sweetie. While you're at it, be sure to ask for a bigger desk."

 

...


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come away with me," he all but begs, wildly hoping to trick that universal clock counting down their days if only they can step out of their current timestream. River gives him a sharp, searching look, so he pretends to be looking for the universe instead of trying to outrun it. "We'll have a proper adventure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, and Happy Whomas! In honour of a new Christmas Special airing today, I'm posting the second to last chapter before I watch! It's a bit short, but the last chapter should more than make up for it.
> 
> Thanks to Beverly and Becs for glancing this over, and all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> For Becs: Happy (belated) Birthday, lovely. You've been here since the beginning. Here's to not quite the end.
> 
> One more to go....

He's greedy and desperate for her, past the point of even trying to hide it. He can feel their time together slipping between his fingers like grains of sand; no matter how tightly he closes his fist, he loses more with every beat of a heart and tick of the clock.

 

They're close now. So painfully close to an end he's never known how to face. He's been running from her death since they met: this time, he intends to run with her.

 

When she tells him about a new expedition to the Library, he has to turn away to hide his face, a dread paralyzing him. Just for a moment, just to compose himself. And then he tucks that dread away in the furthest recesses of his mind, schools his expression, and spins back to River before she catches on.

 

"Come away with me," he all but begs, wildly hoping to trick that universal clock counting down their days if only they can step out of their current timestream. River gives him a sharp, searching look, so he pretends to be looking for the universe instead of trying to outrun it. "We'll have a proper adventure."

 

One eyebrow arched and not entirely convinced, River regards him with a combination of amusement and concern. "A _proper_ adventure? Can I bring my gun?"

 

He bops her nose and tries to memorize the endearing way her faces scrunches up when he does. "You and guns!"

 

Batting away his hand, River sways into him, straightening his bowtie and arching onto her toes. "You like it."

 

"Of course I do." He bends obligingly for a kiss, never able to resist her. Now more than ever. But he pulls away before River can lure him back into bed, catching her hand and starting toward the TARDIS. "Now come along, dear."

 

River's holds fast, eyes gentle in a way that means she thinks he is too fragile to handle the truth. He is. "Oh, sweetie, I can't. I have the expedition in a few days."

 

The Doctor ignores all of it - the look in her eyes and the universe and its bloody countdown - mustering up his best grin and teasing, "Really, River. You of all people should know - I have a time machine."

 

The look on her face is unbearably fond. "I rather think the time machine has you, my love."

 

"Well then that's settled. I'll even let you drive."

 

River rolls her eyes. "How generous of you."

 

But she follows him into the TARDIS and the Doctor mentally heaves a sigh of relief. It's not generous at all, really. He's a selfish, greedy old man, and he cannot bear to let her go just yet. Just one more adventure.

 

The offer to drive wasn't an enticement: it was insurance. He absolutely cannot trust himself not to accidentally-on-purpose miss her expedition to the Library. He thought that after all this time with her that maybe letting her go would be easier. But it's not easier at all. Every time he has to say goodbye to her is harder than the last.

 

...

 

He steals as much time with her as he can, afraid to stop or sleep, lest their clock run out when he's not looking. As long as they're moving, caught between one moment and the next, they can steal an infinity - the Doctor is almost certain. Not that an infinity would be enough, not if he has to live without River after.

 

So he runs, holding tightly to River's hand all the while.

 

He's a bit manic, he knows, past the point of possibly hiding it. River shoots him concerned, questioning looks, but she doesn't call him out on it.

 

The TARDIS lets him steal River away - helps him even - but there's only so much the Old Girl can do against the universe. Every time they take off or land, it's a fight to hold onto coordinates that aren't Luna.

 

River bats at his hands as he races around the console, and he lets her think that he's just worse at driving than usual, rather than risk her realizing the truth.

 

"Just helping, dear."

 

"Well, stop it. Have you completely forgotten how to drive in your old age, sweetie?" River's voice is saccharine sweet, a sure sign that she's cross.

 

He boosts the power subtly, twisting a few other controls to distract River and sending a silent thank you to the TARDIS for letting him get away with it. "Don't be ridiculous. This is how I always drive."

 

Arms crossed over her chest, River narrows her eyes at him. "You promised to let me drive."

 

The Doctor winces. He had done and he'd meant it... before he realized just exactly what driving would entail. "I'm just _helping._ " He sidles closer to River, running his hands over her arms until she relaxes and lets him wrap her up in his arms instead. "We're better together, eh?"

 

With a sigh, River steps back and gestures magnanimously to the console. "Oh, all right. If it'll keep you out of trouble."

 

"That's the spirit, dear!"

 

...

 

They get thrown out of five restaurants in various corners of the galaxy - two because River is impossible to resist, especially when she's being a bit naughty, one because they stop an Auton invasion but destroy the dining room in the process, and the other two because of Sontarans and River's gun. The visit another dozen planets and three galaxies - starships and deserts, castles and caves. They're nearly eaten by a giant mosquito in a jungle on Pantoon - hardly a dignified way to go - but they save an entire miniature kingdom from pirates in the Nexus galaxy. River loses her shoes more than a handful of times, and they never quite seem to make it through to dessert.

 

They should have done this sooner, the Doctor decides, body racing with adrenaline and River's hand in his as they run through a crystal palace to escape a rather blind basilisk that doesn't seem to take very kindly to visitors. He feels properly alive again. More importantly, River feels alive next to him, curses on her lips and her blaster in her other hand, while the Doctor carries her heels.

 

They slam through the TARDIS doors just in time to hear an angry thump as the basilisk catches up, then slithers sulkily away.

 

"Really, she ought to put up a sign, if she's that cross about visitors," River quips, already headed to the console to put them back into the vortex.

 

The Doctor hooks River's heels on their place at the console. "Would that really have stopped you?"

 

"No, but a bit of warning about the giant snake that wanted to eat us would've been nice."

 

The Doctor laughs, watching their relatively smooth progress into the vortex - the TARDIS apparently isn't keen to linger by the basilisk - and wracking his brain for where they should get to next. "Right, somewhere free of giant carnivorous snakes. How about - oh, have you been to Sparta? The planet, not the Greek city. They almost-definitely, probably don't have carnivorous giant snakes, and the Starfires are not to be missed, especially if we go for their second Spring. 2262 had the most ever recorded at one time and, if we time it just right, we should be able to miss the resulting skirmish."

 

He glances at River but she must not notice because, for the second before she sees him and hides it, River looks utterly exhausted.

  
The Doctor's hearts plummet as he realizes that, in his effort to run as far and as fast as he can with River, he's forgotten that she actually does need to sleep. She hasn't said, of course - she never does. She just squeezes his hand and leaps headfirst into trouble with him, like they can run forever.

 

Feeling like a fool, the Doctor gently takes River's hand, lifting it from the console and tugging her after him. River gives him a surprised look. "I thought you wanted to see the Starfires from Sparta?"

 

She watches him with a mixture of confusion and concern as he leads her deeper into the TARDIS and down the familiar path to their bedroom.

 

"Later. Right now, Professor, I'm taking you to bed."

 

River relaxes, a knowing, wicked look gracing her features. "Oh, now that _is_ the perfect sentence."

 

"To _sleep_ ," he clarifies, letting go of her hand only long enough to shuck his coat and shoes before flopping back onto their bed and extending an arm to her. "Come here."

 

"What's the matter with you?" But she curls into him without hesitation, one leg hooked over his and her head on his chest, her hair tickling his chin.

 

"Nothing. Just felt like a catnap." He knows better than to accuse her of looking tired. "Did you know that almost every culture has a ritualized naptime somewhere in their history? Naps have been said to cure almost anything that can ail you..." he trails off because a nap will do little to cure this.

 

Already half-asleep, her breathing heavy and even, River mumbles into his shirt, "Are you going to sleep?"

 

She's an impossibly warm, comforting weight draped across him. The Doctor tightens his arms around her, drawing her closer still. "You go on. I'll be right behind you."

 

He's lying, of course. The Doctor doesn't sleep at all; his eyes stubbornly open as he watches the soft rise and fall of River's chest and tries to burn this memory onto his soul.

 

...


	22. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When there's nowhere left to run, they return to Luna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skidding in for Valentine's Day (in some time zones), the dose of angst you know you wanted! (and smut and fluff, as advertised on the tin!)
> 
> Thanks to Beverly for the encouragement.
> 
> Note the new chapter count - this chapter got so long that it had to be split into three, which is why I'm behind on updating.

When there's nowhere left to run, they return to Luna.

 

He does let River fly them home, eyes squeezed shut and hands fisted around the railing.

 

It's not until River smugly announces, "I've landed us, oh, about five seconds after we left," that he dares to exhale a shaky breath and open his eyes.

 

 _Five seconds after we left_. The Doctor had been afraid that, if he drove, the universe would land them right before Darillium - leaving him just enough time to kiss River goodbye as she sauntered out the door with a younger him.

 

He couldn't have borne that.

 

"No need to be smug, dear," he manages to tease somehow, his knuckles still white around the railing.

 

Thankfully, River is too busy setting the parking brake and checking the scanners to notice. "You like me smug."

 

The Doctor can't deny that, even if he weren't busy trying to muster all his strength to unclench his hands. So busy, in fact, that he doesn't realize River has opened the door until she's already stepped out onto the Lunar grassborgs of her backyard.

 

The timelines coalesce around them with a sharp finality that hits him like cement and reminds him acutely of the time he fell to his death. It's not his death he's facing now, though he'd trade his life gladly. He'd trade anything to save River.

 

The TARDIS must feel it too, something pained in the way she resonates.

 

"Doctor, aren't you coming?"

 

River has frozen halfway to her backdoor, something in her posture a bit too rigid.

 

She can't possibly think he'd leave, just like that, can she? Drop her off and disappear without so much as a goodbye? The Doctor wants to shake himself for every foolish time he's done exactly that - all that wasted time.

 

He does shake himself, firmly. His head is throbbing and his hearts feel lodged one in his stomach and the other in his throat, but he will not waste these last precious moments. "Coming, dear. Just straightening my bowtie."

 

By the time he exits the TARDIS, easy grin on his face and stride purposefully relaxed to hide the way he wants to run to her, some of the tension has left River's frame.

 

She meets him halfway up the stairs, reaching out to fix his bowtie with a fond roll of her eyes. "That's my job."

 

He slips his hands about her waist and draws her in for a kiss rather than admit that he'll forever be out of sorts without her around to straighten him out.

 

River melts into his arms with an easy familiarity that aches in his bones and makes his hands shake. No one else will ever fit him quite like this: _bespoke._

 

The Doctor almost doesn't let go when River pulls back to catch her breath, following after her instinctively to draw her back in.

 

There's so little time left.

 

River bats him away with a sound she'll never admit is a giggle, turning to open the door.

 

It warms his hearts to hear her so relaxed and happy, and the Doctor renews his vow to make her happy for as long as he has the opportunity. If these are their last days, the Doctor has no intention of squandering them. He can mourn her after _._ He _always_ mourns her after.

 

Before River can step inside, the Doctor leaps forward, bending to sweep her off her feet and into his arms. River gasps, startled, and nearly unbalances them both, but the Doctor holds onto her for everything he's worth. With a wink, he walks them over the threshold.

 

Eyes sparkling, River offers him a baffled smile and shifts like she expects him to set her down again. "What are you doing, you ridiculous man? Put me down before you kill us both!"

 

"Hush," the Doctor chides, holding her more securely as he takes a familiar path through their house, already tinged with nostalgia for all the time they've had together here. "I'd never drop you."

 

Arms looped easily around his neck, River twists enough to press an apologetic kiss to his jaw. It's tempting to turn and catch her lips with his, but he's not willing to test his ability to navigate their house without looking when he has something so precious in his arms.

 

He reaches their bedroom mercifully without stumbling over anything, depositing River safely on their bed and leaping after her before she can even sit up. River looks up at him with wide, curious eyes, hands settling back around his neck and her lips curved up. "What was that for?"

 

Utterly besotted at the sight of her, the Doctor offers a lopsided grin. "I figured it was high time I carried you over the threshold. We missed that, the first time." He brushes a stray curl out of River's eye. "Here we were with a perfectly good threshold, as far as thresholds go. My whole brain just went: what the hell!"

 

River draws him down for a kiss, mumbling, "Nostalgic idiot," against his lips just as they part under hers.

 

There's nothing to do but press her into their bed and kiss her back for everything he's worth.

 

With a soft, pleased noise, River shifts until his body is slotted perfectly over hers, her arms around his neck and one of her legs bent at the knee. There's far too much clothing caught between them, and River must agree because her clever hands are already shoving his frockcoat off while he's still caught up kissing her. It gets stuck around his elbows because the Doctor is too busy with his hands in River's hair to remove either of them.

 

Squirming impatiently underneath him, River works his bowtie loose with deft hands, and the Doctor finally tears himself away from her just long enough to sit up and shed the top half of his clothing before returning to trace kisses along her jaw and neck, undoing the buttons of her blouse with his teeth as he crawls down the bed.

 

River inhales a shaky breath as his teeth scrape her skin, arching into his mouth. The fabric of her blouse slips off her shoulders easily while the Doctor is distracted nibbling across the line of her bra.

 

He reaches one hand under River's back to undo her bra and help her out of it, lavishing one of her breasts with attention until he can close his lips over it and suck greedily, with just a hint of teeth. He lifts his hand to cup her other breast, rolling her nipple between this thumb and index finger.

 

River moans, writhing, so the Doctor does it again, taking his time until her nipples are hard and pebbled and her breathing is heavy and labored. Only then does he kiss his way to her sternum and down her stomach, pausing to dip his tongue in her navel.

 

He hooks his fingers under the waistband of her jodhpurs and shoves them down below her knees, but he can't be bothered to tug them all the way off when she's already mostly naked under him. River never wears any knickers with jodhpurs; a fact which she knows drives him to distraction.

 

Her muscles jump when he licks his way further down her stomach. He trails the fingers of his right hand from her hip to her curls, and then lower to part her slick folds and press just inside her, wetness gathering on his fingertip.

 

When her hips buck up at the touch, he makes a chastising noise against her skin, removing his hand and continuing to leisurely trail his lips down her body, veering sideways to nibble at her hipbone and then lower, to suck at the sensitive inner flesh of her thigh.

 

River's breath catches before she moans, a decadent, sinful sound, ripped from the back of her throat. Her hands find his hair to hold him in place, her nails digging into his scalp as her hips buck up.

 

The Doctor continues to suck at the same spot, drawing the rush of her blood towards the surface of her skin and grazing his teeth over sensitive nerve endings. He made her come just like this once, without ever touching her sex. He considers seeing if he can do it again, curling his fingers into her hips to hold her still as she writhes beneath him.

 

He's forgotten many things - many lifetimes - but the Doctor refuses to forget a single moment with River. Not the needy little sounds she makes or the way her breath catches or each and every way he's found to bring her off.

 

It's not the last time, he knows that: they've got an entire weekend together still. But it's all so clearly, painfully finite now, since the moment they landed back on Luna and the timelines settled on a single alternative. He wants to linger; he doesn't want to waste a moment.

 

Her legs are still caught in her jodhpurs and there's not enough room to fully maneuver, but he brings one hand back to her sex, just tracing his fingertips just around her clit, not quite touching.

 

River shudders and swears, her hands tightening in his hair and, before he knows it, he's sprawled out on his back and River is settling over him on her knees, the toes of her boots digging into his chest.

 

The Doctor lifts his head to bury between her legs, done with teasing when she's naked over him, all toned muscles and soft curves and wicked smirk. The taste of her blooms across his tongue, sharp and familiar: full of time and secrets and home.

 

He spreads her open slowly, licking his way from her clit to her entrance and back again, until he can bury his nose in her curls and thrust his tongue inside her.

 

River arches back, and his hands automatically grip her bottom to steady her; to haul her closer; to feel her under his hands and on his tongue. He wants to inhale the scent of her until every time he breathes in he'll think of being between River's legs, at the very heart of her.

 

He loses himself in her, thrusting his tongue and licking at her quivering inner walls; listening to the moans and curses that spill like benedictions across her lips and feeling her muscles strain as she rocks her hips forward and leans backwards.

 

It's not until he hears the thud of her boot hitting the wall that he realizes she's been unlacing her boots. The other soon follows, and then she wiggles out of her jodhpurs in a truly impressive maneuver that he's far too distracted to fully appreciate and digs her bare toes into his ribs.

 

The Doctor jumps and scrapes his teeth over her sensitive folds in retribution, which only makes River whimper and do it again. She stops tickling him when he slides his hands around to her thighs and spreads her legs wider, nipping along the crease of her thigh before thrusting two fingers inside her and closing his lips over her clit.

 

River moans and arches further back, and he doesn't stop to think about what she's up to until her warm palm closes around his cock.

 

The Doctor makes an embarrassing noise, lost to her slick flesh, all his own pressing need suddenly roaring to the forefront of his mind as she squeezes him gently, her thumb sliding over the head of his cock.

 

They shudder there together for a moment, and then River moves, lifting herself off of him only long enough to slide sinuously down his body and sink down onto his cock.

 

The Doctor nearly chokes at the feel of her suddenly engulfing him in wet, molten heat and silken walls that grip his cock mercilessly. He wipes at his mouth hastily with the back of his hand and reaches for her, hands finding her hips as River starts to move, bouncing over him with a quick, hard rhythm that leaves them both gasping and moaning.

 

Her hands settle on his chest for balance, one over each heart, and the Doctor meets her every movement, frenzied, rolling his hips up into hers as she takes him inside and seeking her desperately when she lifts up again.

 

It's impossible to tear his eyes away from her: hair huge and wild around her head in a golden halo, eyes dark and sparkling with desire, her lips swollen from biting back her screams. There's a faint sheen of sweat glistening across her skin and her breasts sway, heavy and enticing, with her every movement.

 

All at once it's not enough to just be inside her; to just watch her. The Doctor surges up until he can wrap his arms around River and press all that golden skin into his, claiming her bitten lips with his own.

 

River makes a surprised, pleased noise against his mouth at the change of position, her hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck and slide through his hair. Her rhythm slows but doesn't falter, and when she sinks down over him again he's able to tug her closer as he thrusts his hips up to meet her.

 

It's more intimate, her breasts sliding across his chest as she moves, their bodies all wrapped up together and sweat-slicked. The Doctor squeezes River as close as he dares, his hands running across her back, fingertips tripping along her vertebrae and palms smoothing over her ribs.

 

Shuddering, River grinds down hard against him, her tongue licking at his and her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his cock, a keening noise caught in the back of her throat, and he knows she's close.

 

They rock together, increasingly frantic, the Doctor thrusting up as River grinds down, and it's only a few more thrusts before she's shattering around him, her entire body taut and trembling as she moves over him. The Doctor holds her close, breaking their kiss only to let her breathe and watch her face as she comes apart, and then he's following right after her at the sight, spilling into her with a ragged groan.

 

The Doctor lets himself fall back against the bed, taking River with him, and she exhales on a surprised, shaky laugh, stretching out her arms and legs even as and curls around him.

 

"First you carried me over the threshold and now you've taken me to bed. How positively old-fashioned of you, sweetie."

 

The Doctor cranes his neck to look at her, raising incredulous brows. "Are you, River Song, complaining that I've taken you to bed?"

 

River laughs again, still breathless. "God, no. Just wondering what the occasion is. Have we gotten married again and I've missed it?"

 

She's teasing, but the Doctor can see the questions lurking underneath. He splays his hands across her back, listening to her hearts beat a rapid tune in time with his. "Unlike some people, I always at least make sure you're conscious before our weddings."

 

"Oh, it was only that once."

 

"Twice."

 

River huffs, but she's biting her lip and he knows she's actually a bit repentant. "How was I supposed to know you'd kiss me before I had a chance to mention the lipstick?"

 

"Seriously?"

 

"Oh, shut up."

 

This time, River's laugh is full and sparkling, rumbling between them, and the Doctor joins her easily, his hearts feeling lighter with hers nestled next to them.

 

It's a fleeting moment: once she's caught her breath, River busses his cheek and twists out of the Doctor's embrace, stretching luxuriously as she sits up.

 

The second she's not touching him, physically grounding him with her skin and mind next to his, the Doctor's head starts to pound, nausea leaping about from his stomach to his throat. He struggles into a seated position, reaching out to wrap his hand around River's wrist and tug her back into bed. The second he touches her, the world rights itself again, and he'll gladly take the heavy weight of their timelines over the sick feeling of being without her.

 

"Oi - where do you think you're going?'

 

River rolls her eyes, though she doesn't put up much of a fight, settling back into him with a little sigh as he maneuvers them under their blanket of stars without letting go of her. "I do have an expedition to plan, my love. I ought to get started packing, at least."

 

"What do you need to plan for archaeology? It's all dust and artifacts." He pointedly does not think about what expedition she's planning, and he's relieved when his voice holds steady. "And I don't know about you, Professor, but I'm exhausted," the Doctor bops her nose with a cheerfulness he doesn't really feel and feigns a giant yawn, stretching out his arms only to wrap her up even more tightly within them.

 

Predictably, adorably, River scrunches up her nose at the touch of his finger. She makes a show of attempting to extract herself from his arms, though they both know she could if she really wanted to. "Then sleep. I'll come back to bed when I've finished packing up."

 

The Doctor nuzzles his head into her curls, worming the two of them deeper into the blankets. "It's the weekend. Stay."

 

"Sweetie..."

 

He lifts his head and meets River's eyes from underneath his fringe, not quite trusting himself to look at her dead on. "I can't sleep without you."

 

There must be enough visible in his eyes for River to nod softly, her body relaxing against his. "Promise you'll actually sleep?"

 

"If you do."

 

...


	23. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to sleep. He really does - after all, he'd promised River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, but rest assured that the next will be more than long enough to make up for it.
> 
> Smut and fluff and angst, as it says on the tin.
> 
> Thanks to Becs and Beverly for their thoughts.
> 
> One more chapter to go!

For all her protests about packing, River falls effortlessly into sleep, while the Doctor detangles her curls with infinite care and watches the easy rise and fall of her chest.

 

He tries to sleep. He really does - after all, he'd promised River. But she's far too fascinating and he loses himself in watching her, memorizing her. After so much time together, River Song is still the greatest mystery the universe has ever graced him with, and he finds he never stops reveling in learning everything he can about her. Like the way her eyelashes flutter when she dreams or how she burrows her nose into his neck when she's cold - seeking warmth from him instead of their bedding.

 

When he can't stand it a second longer; when he can hear the ticking of time being lost like a guillotine in his head and no matter how much he tells himself to just _let her sleep_ , he can't, the Doctor brushes her curls out of the way and presses a fleeting kiss to her temple. " _River..._ "

 

She murmurs and turns into him, not quite awake.

 

Once upon a time, River could barely sleep at all. She used to try to avoid actually _sleeping_ with him - which it took him foolishly long to notice, since he's rubbish at remembering to sleep himself - and, if she did succumb to sleep, she would start at the slightest noise, often violently. He was afraid to touch her or move or even breathe on those nights, lest he startle her.

 

His battered old hearts rumble and ache at how easily she sleeps in his arms now. How she curls naturally into him and recognizes the sound of his voice, even in her dreams. River feels safe with him, an honor the Doctor feels he deserves even less than usual. He'd do anything to keep her safe, but it's already far too late.

 

He chases away that thought by pressing another soft kiss to River's cheek. River shifts with a breathy little sigh and the Doctor realizes his hands have been wandering across her sides and stomach and every bit of her he can reach.

 

River's nose wrinkles when he kisses it, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to burrow into his neck. "Sleep."

 

"Can't," the Doctor whinges plaintively, restless, hand sliding feather-light across the dip of her waist and curve of her hip.

 

"Too hard?" River inquires, sounding suspiciously awake.

  
She shifts her leg higher under their blanket, her thigh brushing against his cock, and the Doctor is suddenly aware of exactly how hard and aching he is. He squirms when she doesn't move away. " _River._ "

 

When her eyes open, they're already dark and glinting with mischief. "You started it. Hands, Doctor."

 

"Didn't mean to," he protests, but he can't seem to take his hands off her.

 

River arches one perfect eyebrow. "That's beside the point: didn't anyone ever teach you to finish what you started?"

 

Rolling properly onto his side, the Doctor wiggles down the bed until he can kiss her properly, and suddenly her body is aligned perfectly against his, all warm inviting curves. He growls against her lips and hauls her closer, hand at her hip.

 

With a pleased little sigh, River opens her mouth against his, hot and needy - all traces of her earlier sleepiness vanished.

 

He walks his fingers from her hip to the curls between her legs and she's already wet when he parts her folds. His knuckles brush his cock and every part of him aches to just bury himself inside her; he has to tear his mouth from hers to bury his face against his pillow as he strains against the urge.

 

River's hand slides down his arm to catch his wrist and lead his hand back to her hip. "There was more than enough foreplay earlier, don't you think?"

 

She rolls her hips until her slick sex drags across his cock and his fingers tighten over her hip. His body tilts toward her automatically and, when River rocks forward again, their bodies align and he sinks inside her with a groan.

 

River gasps, "God, yes, _sweetie_."

 

Her fingers dig into his skin, trying to draw him closer, and he surges forward, one hand buried in her hair and the other grabbing her bum to haul her flush against him. Her body stretches around his cock as he buries himself inside her, and the Doctor has to pause a moment to catch his breath and adjust to the tight heat of her. But River rocks her hips demandingly against his until the Doctor forces himself to move, to leave her hot grasp just for a moment before plunging back in.

 

There's not as much room to maneuver on their sides like this, but there's a quiet sort of intimacy in having her curled into him in their bed, tucked under their blanket, their bodies rocking slowly together while her head rests over his arm and her arm and breasts are caught between them. Twisted up so close together that they're a jumble of legs and limbs and River's hair tickles his face but the Doctor doesn't mind because he can watch her eyes darken and change colors, close enough to count her eyelashes.

 

He does, even though he's counted them before. Because he doesn't ever want to forget a single detail about her, even just an eyelash that she's shed in her sleep.

 

Not that he has all that much time to focus on her eyelashes when she's wrapped up around him, their bodies sliding together and sweat gathering on their skin. They keep a slow rhythm, more about the feel of being joined, of being as close together as bodies allow, than about the rush to reach completion.

 

He's complete with River in his arms and he would happily stay like this forever, even if the tingling in his toes and balls and low in his stomach disagrees. Even if the feel of her silky walls wrapped around his cock makes him want to thrust into her with abandon until the pleasure builds and snaps and burns.

 

It's a low, warm sort of pleasure curling up between them. A steady rock of their hips that betrays how easily they fall into sync together, how perfectly they're cut for each other. That word bubbles up between them again, their word: _bespoke._

 

River moans, trying to get him closer, deeper, despite the slightly difficult position. She steals him for another kiss, all liquid need, and the Doctor forgets everything but the feel of her: her mouth; her breasts; her sex.

 

He hitches her leg higher over his hip and obliges, thrusting hard into her, and then they're both whimpering and feeding soft keening noises into each other's mouths.

 

He can feel his control teetering on the edge. He's been wound up all night, too close since the moment he first pressed inside her slick sex. But River's not quite there with him, her body still languid from sleep. Keeping his strokes long and deep, the Doctor circles his hips, trying to find that perfect angle that will set all that soft diffuse pleasure between them ablaze.

 

River's breath catches when he does, her hips jerking into his and a strangled sound in the back of her throat that sends his own need rushing perilously close to the edge. He's out of hands, so the Doctor grips River as tightly as he dares, tugging at her hair and nibbling her lower lip as he rolls his hips into hers.

 

River whimpers and keens and clings to him, and he manages two more thrusts before her sex pulses and clenches around him, drawing him over the edge with her. The slower build of heat and pleasure between them no less powerful in its release than their more explosive, urgent couplings.

 

The Doctor lavishes soft kisses to the corner of River's mouth and her cheek, relaxing his grip on her to shed their blankets and slide his hands across her sweat-slicked back in long, soothing strokes while her chest heaves against his.

 

"Mmm," River stays wrapped around him, letting him slip from her but stopping him when he moves to leave the warm cradle of her body. "Now that was quite the wakeup call."

 

The Doctor can't bring himself to feel apologetic for waking her, not with her soft curves and racing hearts pillowing his weary body. "Maybe I should try waking you more often, then," he teases softly, his voice scratchy and raw.

 

"Maybe you should try sleeping."

 

The sweat on their skin is already drying between them, leaving their bodies a bit sticky and chilling River's skin. With a careful twist, River maneuvers them to a more comfortable position, stretching out on her back away from the damp spot on the sheets, while the Doctor curls his body around hers, drawing their blanket back up with him so she doesn't get cold.

 

He can feel River's frown. She's worried about him, he can tell by how gentle she's being with him, like he might shatter at her touch if she's not careful. He ought to reassure her but the Doctor isn't quite sure _how_. She's right, after all: he feels acutely like he might just fall to pieces the moment he leaves her, even if it's just to close his eyes. Eyes stubbornly open, he mumbles, "'M not tired," into the skin over her collarbone.

 

His head is pillowed on her chest, one arm tucked tightly around her waist and his thumb running restlessly across her skin. River's fingers card soothingly through his hair until the Doctor lets his weary eyes fall shut at last, lulled by the steady, reassuring beat of her hearts.

 

"Oh, Doctor. What am I going to do with you?" She breathes, so softly that he knows he's not meant to hear it.

 

_Oh, River. What am I going to do without you?_

 

...


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tighter the Doctor holds onto River, the faster time deserts them. This is it, he knows. No more loopholes or stolen moments or missing diary pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, you and I, on the last page.
> 
> It's hard to believe that, after 4 years and 82,345 words, _Betwixt_ is finally complete.
> 
> I have too many people to thank than I can possibly name, but these last chapters get a special shout out to Beverly and Becs for reviewing, and Megs and Sandy (Sandbar) for encouragement. Thank you to anyone who is still reading and everyone who might decide to read in the future.
> 
> I meant to have this posted for Alex's birthday, but I've been fussing with editing for an entire month. I'll be slightly editing previous chapters in the coming days. In the meantime, Happy Doctor Who Day.
> 
>  _Betwixt mine eye and heart._ Written: 3/8/13-3/12/17

He'd meant to take her out - shower her with romance and gifts. Instead, they spend almost the entirety of the weekend in bed. It's selfish: in her arms the Doctor can forget - for a few moments - how achingly much he already misses her. It also distracts River from asking what's bothering him. And when his throat feels too choked to form words, he tells her he loves her with his body instead.

 

River doesn't seem to mind.

 

They leave their bed for mundane necessities like food and trips to the loo, but the Doctor hardly leaves River alone, finding some way to keep her near - keep touching her - as often as possible. River must be sick of his hovering but she doesn't say, melting into his increasingly desperate embraces as easily as ever.

 

When she finally insists on getting her packing sorted, the Doctor complains loudly about archaeology being rubbish but insists on lingering by the door, even when River threatens to throw him out and unsubtly suggests that he go make himself useful somewhere else. Instead, he musters up his flagging courage and plunks himself in the middle of their bed, helping her fold with shaking hands.

 

Afterwards, he tumbles her back into bed and refuses to let her up again until he's reacquainted himself with every inch of her and he no longer feels that the yawning void of the Library, looming large and imminent, is going to swallow him whole.

 

...

 

The tighter the Doctor holds onto River, the faster time deserts them. This is it, he knows. No more loopholes or stolen moments or missing diary pages. She has the final planning meeting for her expedition Monday morning before her lecture, and then his younger self will steal her away to Darillium before she leaves for the Library, and then she'll just be gone.

 

He hates Mondays, he decides, with a passion.

 

It's not any easier to say goodbye than the times before, but there's nowhere left to run. The timelines have settled and the outcome is fixed, weighing on his hearts until they might as well be made of dwarf star alloy.

  
So the Doctor tucks River close to the cavity in his chest where his heavy hearts ache and tries to enjoy their last hours together. He'd promised himself that he would not burden River with more of his misery, that he wouldn't let her death taint their times together when she's alive. And she's still very much alive in his arms, even if just for a moment more.

 

River presses a kiss to his jaw, her lips soft and teasing, and she grins mischievously at him when he tilts her head up for a proper kiss. If it's a bit too needy, his lips and tongue searching for hers and his hands cradling her face, River only encourages him, breathing hotly into his mouth and scraping her teeth over his bottom lip.

 

The Doctor shudders, a whimpering sound escaping him, and rolls them, pressing River back into their bed, hands sliding greedily across her skin as his tongue thrusts and twines against hers.

 

It's the last time he'll have her in his arms, truly and properly. The Doctor had almost forgotten that unique ache with all the linear time they've had together.

 

Once upon a time, every night they spent together felt like the last. Each _hello, sweetie_ spoilt with the knowledge that it would be closely followed by a goodbye he could never face. He never knew how long he'd have to withstand the universe without her - how many nights he would stalk empty TARDIS halls, waiting for her.

 

And then there were the nights that actually were goodbyes. So many nights he'd thought were the last, only to discover - beg, borrow, steal - one more page. He thought they were over at Darillium, when the Towers sang and he could no longer hide his tears. And he thought it every time he left her on Luna, afraid he'd never find his way back to her.

 

So many lasts, he's not sure he knows how to bear one more.

 

River arches against him, her hands sliding across his back and her bare skin pressing intimately against his, and the Doctor doesn't know how he can bear anything else.

 

His body luxuriates and thrills everywhere her skin touches his. He fits against her so easily, all her curves welcoming his long lines and lanky frame as though he were made for her. He's often thought that's probably the truth of it; whatever body he wears since he met her will be made just for her: _Bespoke._

 

He'd be content to just lay wrapped up in her, skin against skin, but River twists against him - wild and impatient and just a little bit bossy, and so perfect that the Doctor could weep with how much he loves her.

 

He kisses her instead, until her breath catches on a gasp and her fingers tighten over his skin, until she chases away her own ghost with the heat of her mouth and race of her hearts beneath his.

 

She's intoxicating, mesmerizing, and it's the Doctor that is lightheaded when he pulls back just far enough to shake off their blankets and trace his lips across the hollow of her throat and down the valley between her breasts. He doesn't ever want to forget this.

  
River's breath hitches when he sucks at her skin, desperate and sloppy and hard enough to mark. She arches her breasts into his mouth and digs her nails into his scalp until he catches her wrists and pins them to the bed.

 

"Hold still," his voice is deep and rough, and it comes out almost like a growl against her skin.

 

River shudders at his words and then freezes, her body relaxing into their bed.

 

When he's sure she's not going to move, the Doctor releases her wrists, settling onto his side to watch her. One of her eyebrows is arched expectantly over dark eyes and smirking lips. Her skin is flushed to match her heaving, breathless chest as she fights not to squirm under his lingering gaze. She always likes it when he takes control, his bad girl.

 

Slowly, reverently, the Doctor reaches for her, his fingers tracing out Gallifreyan against her skin, nearly forgotten words with no direct translations. Words only left between the two of them. He draws the complicated concept of concurrent past-present-future time over her hip, eternity in a moment, as close to forever as the universe and Time Lords could conceive. The word for four hearts syncing etched between hers. He writes other words too: her name and his - his real name, the one too dangerous to ever write with a pen - the name he taught her just like this, skin on skin, so many years ago.

 

River shivers under his caresses, her hands digging into their bedding until she's clutching stars under her palms, _sweetie_ on her tongue in Gallifreyan, the word so suffused with love that the Doctor's hands tremble over her skin. He kisses the spot where he's just traced _time_ across her hip, hiding his eyes from her.

 

There will be no one to share his language with after she's gone. Gallifreyan will be dead and dusty, a useless relic like the ones she used to dig up - like him.

 

"River, River," her name is a melody and a mantra, swirling and powerful; a prayer in Gallifreyan to universe; a desperate hope that if he keeps saying her name he'll get to keep _her_.

 

He breathes her name into her skin, into her sex, his tongue darting out to lap up the wetness already gathered there as River's thighs tense and tremble with the effort of holding herself still.

 

He spreads her open slowly, licking up her folds to tease her clit with lazy circles, his hands at her thighs as he finally lifts his eyes to meet hers. He wants to treasure this - _her_ \- the way she looks with his head between her thighs.

 

River bites back a strangled moan, her legs pliant in his grip though her hands still fist the sheets, her breath hitching at each stroke of his tongue around her clit.

 

His fingers tease her entrance, parting her slippery folds until he can dip his tongue inside her, playful at first, and then thrusting in earnest, pressing his tongue inside her to lap at her fluttering walls while his fingertips dance lightly over her clit.

 

Her moans spill across her lips uninhibited, interspersed with encouragement and curses as her muscles tense and strain. His body aches with her, with how much he needs her, drowning gladly in her scent and the warm pulse of her slick sex.

 

Thumb over her clit, the Doctor writes _let go_ in smooth swirls until River understands, her breath catching on a scream as her hips arch up and her hands find their home in his hair, her entire body writhing with her release.

 

Eyes never leaving hers, the Doctor swallows it covetously up, licking at her until his tongue is too rough for her sensitive sex and he presses a kiss to her trembling thigh instead.

 

From her thigh, he licks a stripe across her stomach, pausing to dip his tongue in her navel and nudge his nose between her ribs until River giggles breathlessly and scrapes her nails over his scalp and it's the Doctor who shivers.

 

He nips at the underside of her breast in retaliation, adding to the scattering of reddened marks across her skin, and listens to the strong, thundering beats of her racing hearts.

 

Only now that she can move, River is everywhere, her hands sliding across his back to grip his bum and haul him up, his cock caught between them and her thighs around his.

 

The Doctor moans and lifts his head to meet her wicked smirk just as her tiny, hot hand wraps around his cock. " _River_ ," this time her name is half pleading, half growl.

 

"Yes, Doctor?"

 

His reply is little more than a strangled whimper and River laughs, but the sound is so pleased that he can't even be cross. "Oh, shut up."

 

She arches one perfect brow. "Make me," their words falling like sin and salvation from her lips.

 

With a low noise that might be a proper growl, the Doctor grips River's bottom and yanks her closer, her hand guiding his cock to her sex until he can press slowly, torturously inside her wet, pulsing heat.

 

He has to pause just inside her, his forehead resting against hers and his chest constricting painfully at the overwhelming rush of emotion. He's whole here, with River, alive in a way that is River's alone. He wants to memorize that feeling for when she's gone and he'll never be whole again.

 

River lets him catch the breath he's holding, her hands stroking soothingly across his back as she tilts her head up to kiss him and bring him back to life.

 

His hips slide forward instinctively, driving him on until he sinks all the way inside her and they both moan, tongues and limbs and bodies all twined up together. River's hips rock up into his until he moves, withdrawing from her only to sink back immediately, his thrusts slow and deep.

 

Their lips part on a sigh, the Doctor's hand cradling River's cheek. She smiles up at him through swollen lips, a bit naughty but genuine, and he falls more in love with her than he knew was possible.

  
Every moment he spends with his wife, the Doctor falls a bit more in love, and he'd gladly keep falling for the rest of his lives.

 

He balances his weight on his elbow long enough to steal her hand in his other, pinning it above her head with their fingers intertwined.

 

River arches into him, her full breasts pressed against his chest until feels her heartbeats reverberating against his - that perfect synchronicity that he sealed like a promise over her skin.

 

Their hips roll together, each thrust a bit more desperate and forceful than the last. River gasps, her free hand sliding across his back and her entire body clinging to him from her legs to her sex to the way her curls wrap around his fingers.

 

" _Doctor,_ " his name sounds desperate on her lips, both begging and demanding.

 

He can feel her sex fluttering and clutching at him, her release already close enough to taste in the sweat beaded along her skin and the race of her hearts. The Doctor drives them both higher, shifting the angle of his thrusts until he can get just that much deeper with each roll of his hips, her clit caught between them.

 

River's voice cracks and breaks off into wordless keening until he kisses her again, savoring the needy little sounds she makes as his tongue thrusts in time with his hips and his thumb strokes across her cheek.

 

Her hips rock up desperately against his until she falls apart beneath him, her hand squeezing his and her head thrown back against her pillow.

 

His own body is quivering and taut, his head pounding with the beating of their hearts, and he can't hold back his own release, the pleasure snapping and burning molten through him until it's hard to think or even breathe.

 

He collapses across River, shattered, his blood roaring in his ears and pounding through his skull, and it's all he can manage to roll over and bring River with him so that he doesn't crush her.

 

His eyes have fallen heavily shut and it's a struggle to open them, to calm his hearts and come back to himself. When he forces his bleary eyes open, River is ephemeral in the pale pre-dawn light, and he has to clutch her closer to reassure himself that she's real and not another ghost of herself.

 

River squeezes the hand still caught in hers and presses a fleeting kiss to his lips with a pleased sound. "Good morning, sweetie."

 

Then she slides neatly out of his arms and their bed before he can recover enough to catch her - slowed by the pounding in his skull and the choking weight of timelines. The second her bare feet touch the floor, the weight starts to ebb, and the Doctor has never before wished so intensely to be crushed to death rather than see it go. See her go.

 

"River..." he gasps out her name, his throat dry and voice rough.

 

"Just washing up, sweetie. I've got to get ready - can't be late to finalize my own expedition!" She's switched back to English and the bubble between them is gone, just like that, washed away in the harsh solar morning light.

 

He rolls over to snag her wrist but she slips out of his grip like water, moving towards the bath. River pauses at the threshold, mistaking his pained expression and throwing him a naughty wink. "I didn't say you couldn't join me."

 

The Doctor swallows around the aching void in his hearts, around the treacherous hope threatening to eat him whole. "Won't you be late?"

 

"Not if you're very, very good."

 

"Oh, I am."

 

"Prove it."

 

He's on his feet and racing her into the bath before she finishes the statement, greedy for every second with her. He'd thought - well, he'd though it would be the last time, but River always surprises him. A giddy sound escapes him at the unexpected miracle.

 

River laughs as she turns on the taps and steps into the shower with him hot on her heels. "Can't get enough of me, Doctor?"

 

"Never," he vows, throat choked again, and he quickly ducks his head under the spray so he doesn't have to meet River's eyes. The hot water soothes the pounding in his head and washes away his tears.

 

Once he's sure his voice will hold, the Doctor shifts out of the water, brushing his fringe out of his eyes and probably making his hair stand on end by the way a smile teases the corner of River's lips. He reaches around River for her shampoo. "Let me?"

 

She eyes him suspiciously, well aware of how obsessed he is with her hair. With _her_. "Oh, all right. Be quick about it."

 

The Doctor makes a non-committal noise, watching appreciatively as River ducks under the spray and wets her wild curls until they are soaked through, dripping down her back in a long, wavy mass that refuses to let the water pull it straight. She wipes water out of her eyes and the Doctor watches it streak across the rest of her body, clinging to her curves as she stretches.

 

He steps up behind her, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough to be splashed by droplets of water every time she moves. The Doctor lathers the shampoo into her hair carefully, focusing on the roots, letting his fingers linger to massage her scalp and soothe away whatever lingering distress he's caused her.

 

River lets out a soft moan that goes right to his cock but the Doctor tries his best to ignore that, keeping his focus on River.

 

He ducks his head to murmur, "Rinse," and spins River in his arms so she can tilt her head under the water and he can wash the shampoo free of her curls.

 

This time he turns them both, maneuvering so his back is protecting River from the spray and she can lean against his chest as he squeezes copious amounts of conditioner into his palm and starts meticulously working it into her hair.

 

As his fingers massage across her scalp, River lets out that little moan again, leaning forward to brace her arms against the tile and arching her bottom into him.

 

The Doctor bites back a whimper as her wet backside slides across his cock, unable to stop himself from rocking his hips gently into her. The sound River makes is positively sinful in its encouragement.

 

He uses half the bottle of conditioner as he works his fingers through her curls, carefully separating and detangling them before twisting each curl around his fingers the way River has painstakingly taught him. When he's done, he carefully winds River's hair around itself until it's up in a bun and off her shoulders.

 

River starts to lift her head with a regretful sigh, opening her eyes from where they've fallen shut, but the Doctor simply shifts his attention to her neck and shoulders, lathering up her body wash and continuing the massage.

 

"Doctor," River breathes out his name as though she means it to be a warning but can't quite muster the will to complain.

 

"Hush, the conditioner needs time to work," he reminds her, digging his fingers into a stubborn knot in her shoulder. Her conditioner smells like orange blossoms and her body wash is fresh and minty, the scents mingling in the steam until he can taste the unique combination of them and River on the back of his throat.

 

River bites back another moan, letting her head drop between her shoulders as she acquiesces.

 

In a last act of rebellion against the timelines tearing them apart, the Doctor takes his time. He slides his hands across her slick skin, working the knots and kinks out of River's back and shoulders until she's pliant in his arms, appreciative moans spilling across her lips. He soaps her arms and her sides, just grazing his thumbs over the curve of her breasts as he goes.

 

Dropping to his knees in the water, the Doctor carefully soaps River's hips and bum before moving on to her legs.

 

River curses, his name among them.

 

"Just being thorough, dear."

 

He ignores her impatience and her more pointed cursing, kneading his way down her thighs and calves to her feet, carefully avoiding anywhere untoward.

 

Before she can step away or haul him up, the Doctor quickly stands, tugging River into him so that her back rests against his chest once more, her slippery curls wet against his shoulder. He maneuvers them around until River is under the warm water to chase away the gooseflesh crawling across her skin, careful not to get her face or hair wet.

 

Apparently resigned to the fact that he's not about to be rushed with his massage, River relaxes into him with a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. The Doctor bops one finger over her nose, giggling when she wrinkles it and lifts a hand to swipe away the bubbles left by his finger.

 

"You missed a spot," she teases, already breathless.

 

"No, I didn't."

 

"Yes, you d- _fuck_ -" she cuts off with a hiss when his hands soap across her chest to cup her breasts.

 

He palms their heavy weight, rolling his thumbs over her nipples - hard despite the warm water. "What was that, dear?"

 

"I hate you."

 

He can hear the _I love you_ despite her breathless, cross tone, and it almost steals his breath away.

 

"No, you don't," he manages around the sudden lump in his throat that holds the words he never manages: _I love you._

 

The Doctor inhales carefully, forcing breath into his leaden lungs, and it's a relief that she can't see his face in that moment. Just a moment, and then River wiggles impatiently on a sigh and he's brought abruptly back into the present: his wife, naked and impatient and needy in his arms.

 

His cock twitches between them with every soft keening noise River makes as he cups and squeezes her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly before sliding his hands lower.

 

Leaning heavily into his chest, River whimpers as his hands slowly inch their way down her slick stomach to her soaked curls. "Sweetie..." Her voice is low and urgent and, as much as the Doctor refuses to rush, he's still powerless to deny her anything, even after all this time.

 

She trembles when his fingertips slick across her swollen clit, whimpering.

 

The Doctor bends his head to her ear and lets his voice drop low and gravelly in a way he knows makes her shiver. "Still sensitive?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Good." He feels a little bit raw. Like he wants them both to remember this - aching, shaking with need.

 

So he does it again, circling his fingers over her clit, gentle but unrelenting. River inhales a sharp breath, biting her lip, and the Doctor soothes her with a kiss against her temple.

 

Instead of pulling away, she leans more heavily into him, her wet skin sliding across his cock as she writhes in his arms. The Doctor steadies her with his other arm wrapped securely around her. He splays his hand possessively across her flat stomach, feeling her muscles twitch under his palm. River is an unstoppable force of nature, and yet he's always amazed by how large his hands look on her. How fragile and vulnerable she can be under all that danger and mystery.

 

The water has already rinsed his hands of soap and the Doctor slips his fingers lower, parting River's folds until he can sink two fingers easily inside her. She's hotter than the water, still swollen and wet, clinging greedily to his fingers. He curls them up, searching until he can press against the spot that makes River's moans hitch.

 

She's still sensitive and wound up, her hands flying to his forearms to clutch at him rather than pull him away.

 

As much as he wants to push her, push them, push against the universe that is tearing them apart, the Doctor holds a slow, steady pace, fingers seeking that spot with every slow roll of his wrist, savoring the tremor in River's moans at his touch. He presses the palm of his hand over her clit, rubbing with each pump of his fingers, and River shudders and shatters all at once, hands and sex clutching at him as she keens.

 

He works her steadily through her release, his fingers sticky with her. Instead of letting her come down, he spins her back against the wall, dropping to his knees to bury his face against River's sex before the water can wash away the taste of her. He laps up her release, tasting home and danger and absolution between her thighs.

 

River's moans are decadent as she balances against the wall, her hands scrabbling at the tile and her thighs shaking against him. The Doctor steadies her with his hands at her waist as he buries his tongue inside her quivering sex, licking at her walls insatiably.

 

The Doctor devours her like a man starved. He will be starved for her after this, he knows, a pitiful shell of himself.

 

Moaning, River slides one leg over his shoulder, opening herself further to him, her hands finding his hair, and the Doctor shakes away the momentary melancholy in favor of basking in her.

 

He can lose himself between her legs, with the needy little sounds she makes, the scent and taste of her surrounding him as her hips buck up, seeking more of his questing tongue and open-mouthed kisses against her slick sex. He takes his time exploring her, mapping her inside out, as though he could ever forget any part of River. She's hot and slick and pulsing against his tongue, so alive that it chokes him, and this time the Doctor doesn't dare look up to meet her eyes for fear of what she might find in his.

 

He can feel her here, feel the way her muscles quiver and tighten, the way her breath catches and her double-pulse races. Sometimes the Doctor thinks that all River's spoilers are buried between her legs and he can't quite believe he ever deserves to touch her here, where her secrets live. To have her here, like this.

 

When the Doctor runs his hands up her body to squeeze her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, River's breath catches as she tips over the edge. The Doctor swallows her release greedily, licking at her with a desperate zeal and his own moan of pleasure until he can't care that it's too much and River is yanking him up by his hair.

 

He goes willingly enough, sliding up River's body until she can kiss him senseless, licking her own flavor from his lips and tongue. His hands find their way into her hair, already undone from tossing her head against the tile, but it's still not close enough. He needs all of her, pressed against him, wrapped up around him. Her skin is warm and wet against his and his own ravenous need for her is suddenly startling at the forefront of his mind, leaving him lightheaded and his legs shaky.

 

The Doctor breaks their urgent kiss to bury his face in her neck with a strangled groan, hoping she mistakes his tears for water against her skin. " _River._ "

 

Wet strands of her hair trail tangled across her shoulders, tickling his nose. Hands still buried amongst her wet curls, he gathers them up and out of the way so he can lick and suck at her skin, soft and clean and purely River.

 

Looping her arms around his neck, fingertips playing with his hair, River hitches one leg over his hip, somehow locking it around his waist despite the soap and water and slick skin. He abandons her curls to slip his hands under her thighs and lift her, sliding her up the tile until she can wrap both legs tightly around his hips and his aching cock drags across her wet heat, leaving them both shuddering and gasping at the contact.

 

Their skin is too slippery though, and the Doctor can't quite get the right angle without any free hands. A frustrated whimper builds in the back of his throat. River laughs gently at the sound, somehow reaching between them to take his cock in hand and guide him home inside the tight, throbbing heat of her.

 

He wanted to take this slow. To savor every moment and worship her. To watch the pleasure steal across her face one more - one _last_ \- time. But the second he's inside her, he can't stop himself from thrusting as deep as he can, desperate to somehow get closer still. To get so deep inside her that he'll never have to leave.

 

He's talking out loud, he realizes. Unable to stem the words tumbling out against her skin: filthy commentary on how she feels wrapped around him, odes to her beauty, harsh whispers begging her never to leave him.

 

River's hands and sex clutch at him, moans spilling across her lips as he thrusts desperately, recklessly into her, powerless to still his hips or quiet his words. He's on edge and aching, throbbing for her, his entire body strung taut with the effort of holding them up, of holding himself back as he pounds her into the tile.

 

River clenches around him, her moans rising toward a scream with his name on her lips, and the Doctor's tenuous control snaps. Her orgasm rocks through them both, the Doctor's hips stuttering as he spills inside her, his vision going light and dark all at once as he struggles to keep them both upright.

 

He would stay like this forever, wrapped up with River in the heat and steam of the shower, water scalding his side and the air and tile cool on the bits of him not safely wrapped in River's warmth. But their skin is rapidly cooling, River's nipples pebbled against his chest and gooseflesh spreading across her skin, salty from his tears.

 

The Doctor withdraws gently, helping River regain her footing, mindful of the slick tile and his own clumsiness. River stretches luxuriously in his arms, her hands lingering at his neck and sliding over his chest, and the Doctor leans forward to press one last quick kiss to River's smiling, swollen lips before he has to pull away, reaching for the soap again and tidying up quickly under the spray before she can catch his red-rimmed eyes.

 

River's hands go immediately to her hair. She sighs at the mess of it where it's knotted and started to dry in frizzy, angry places. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

 

"I just can't resist you," he corrects, shifting so River can get under the warm water with him and hoping he hasn't let any spoilers spill across her skin with his tears.

 

River huffs but her smile is fond. "This is absolutely the last time I let you do my hair."

 

"Nonsense," the Doctor reaches around her for the remaining conditioner, trying not to think of lasts. "You haven't even rinsed yet."

 

"Sweetie-"

 

He works more conditioner into her hair, carefully undoing all the tangles from his hands and the tile, twisting the locks gently back into their preferred coils and soothing the ones that have frizzed. "Right. Now you can rinse."

 

He doesn't have to see her face to know River is rolling her eyes before she shuts them, tilting her head under the spray and letting him help to separate out her curls, making sure they are all properly soaked through and the majority of the conditioner is rinsed free.

 

Blinking water out of her eyes, River reaches blindly for the shampoo and returns the favor, helping him with his hair and trailing sudsy fingers down his back and up his front until the Doctor's almost forgotten that they're meant to be washing up at the feel of her hands on his skin.

 

With a regretful sigh, River withdraws, ducking back under the spray and luring him after her until they're both rinsed clean. "I really am going to be late."

 

He can't resist smirking a bit at making River lose track of time. At stealing her just a bit longer. He circles his hands loosely around her waist and doesn't let her get far, trying valiantly to keep his voice lighter than he feels. "Well, I am very, very good."

 

River hums in agreement and then turns a sharp, amused eye on him. "Oh, don't let it go to your head. If I agree that's just the multiple orgasms talking."

 

"Yes, dear," he bites back his amusement, surprised to feel it bubbling up in his chest.

 

But then River turns off the taps and slips out of his arms to step out of the shower, and the Doctor feels the amusement freeze and shatter inside of him, stabbing like shards of ice.

 

He swallows carefully as he follows her, reaching for their TARDIS blue towels out of habit.

 

River dries herself with brisk efficiency, carefully squeezing the excess water from her hair before scrunching it with a considered variety of products that still baffles and astounds him no matter how many times he watches her routine.

 

He can't help but linger, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes and enduring River's resultant swat when droplets of water splash her in his wake. He can hear time ticking by too loudly in his ears, across his hearts, heavy and bitter and _stealing her away from him_.

 

It's a struggle to force his limbs to move forward, to ignore the pounding in his skull and plaster on a smile for when River turns to him. He's known time was ticking down, known this was one more miracle than he deserved, but _oh_ , how he wants another. Still the greedy, selfish old man when it comes to his wife.

 

It's only the threat of losing sight of her that makes him move, drying himself by rote and following River like a hapless puppy back into their bedroom and to their wardrobe, watching with increasing desolation as she flits quickly through her clothing, muttering to herself as she eyes each piece critically.

  
The Doctor sinks heavily onto their bed, elbows on his knees, just barely managing to lift his head when she turns to hold a pair of jodhpurs up for his inspection. That, more than anything, solidifies it: she's putting on her archaeologist costume rather than her professor attire. He nods helplessly, throat too choked to speak, barely even able to see what she's holding through the sheen of tears clouding his vision.

 

When she turns back to find a top, distracted by being late, the Doctor scrubs his fists roughly over his eyes and tries to beat back the pounding in his skull. He won't have her see him like this. This isn't their last night, not for her. It's just another morning together in their house, the one they found and painted and lived in together - every bit as much their home as the TARDIS, linear where their ship was always just passing moments.

 

He knows he ought to get dressed, but he's never wanted to less. To be the Doctor to her Archaeologist: just two travelers passing by, spinning through time and space.

 

It's all just costumes - the clothes they wear and the roles they play. When he wears his tweed, he's the Doctor; when he wears a top hat and tails, he's hers.

 

He doesn't think he'll want to be the Doctor for a long while again after this, not without River by his side, but he'll need to be, to survive. And he always survives, especially when he doesn't want to. Slowly, painstakingly, achingly, the Doctor lurches to his feet and reaches for his clothing.

 

"I think -" he has to pause to lick his dry lips and hide the way his voice cracks, "I think it's time I headed out, Professor. You've got an expedition to plan and packing to finish, after all. I'll just be in the way."

 

River pauses in buttoning up her shirt, turning toward him with a pinched look. "Don't be ridiculous." And then, considering. "Is this what's been bothering you? It's all right if you have to go, Doctor. I understand."

 

The misery lancing through his cells fades under a sudden swell of rage. He swallows thickly, hands clenched in fists to keep from lashing out at her, at the universe. He doesn't want her _understanding_. He doesn't want her calm acceptance, as though that's all their marriage has ever been: one of them leaving. _He doesn't want to leave._

 

"It's not that, _River_ -"

 

"Shh," she turns and takes him into her arms, her clothes rough across the weary, raw nerves of his bare skin. "It doesn't matter."

 

He unclenches his hands to splay them across her back and press her close, ignoring the rustle of fabric between them. "Of course it matters."

 

River shakes her head, her curls tickling his bare chest with her movement, her eyes wide and full of so much love that he both wants to turn away and dares not. "I have my expedition tomorrow anyway. I'll see you after, unless you fancy coming with?"

 

The Doctor kisses her instead of replying, not sure what he could possibly say in that moment. She doesn't want his excuses and, for once, he doesn't have it in him to lie. Not to her. Not right now. He feels so very naked next to her and he can't afford that, not with her death hanging between them.

 

Before he can linger and lose himself in her - before River can see her loss clinging to him - the Doctor pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to River's nose and stepping back before he can think better of it, reaching for his clothing and teasing, "Aren't you late?"

 

With a huff, River turns back to her clothing, the moment broken.

 

They finish dressing quickly, both acutely aware of the seconds ticking by, though River is only cross because she's anxious to leave; the Doctor never wants to let her go.

 

With each passing second, each layer of clothing that separates them, he feels the weight of stolen time lessen and lift, the universe already forgiving him for stealing her away so long as he gives her up now.

 

The Doctor shrugs on his frockcoat, wearing it like armor against the desolation eating him up inside as River finishes applying her lipstick.

 

River straightens his bowtie, as always, and it takes the Doctor a moment to remember how to breathe through the pain constricting his lungs and hearts. It's the last time she'll ever straighten his bowtie. From now on, he will have to find a way to subsist without her, a paltry imitation of himself, because living - actually, properly living - seems impossible without her by his side.

 

He tucks his hands behind his back to hide the way they tremble.

 

Being with River is worth it. Whatever horrible, wrenching, impossible pain will break his hearts with her loss, he can't regret these moments with her. The pure and unadulterated joy of her: from her smirk to the magic of her hair. Their marriage hasn't been perfect. There have been moments when they've rowed or when one of them has run because they were scared (conveniently ignoring Rule Seven). Things he wishes he'd said and others he wishes he could stuff right back into his mouth. Even the bits that hurt or ache, even harsh words and River's handprint on his face - he can't regret one moment of their marriage because it's _theirs_. Something he never thought he'd truly have and, for all its imperfections, for everything the universe threw at them, it's perfect. And so, so worth it.

 

River smiles at him - that genuine, fond smile she saves for him when they're alone - and he somehow manages to smile back because her smile is too beautiful to warrant anything else, and then she turns and strolls casually out of their bedroom, knowing that he'll always be right behind her.

 

...

 

When he steps over the threshold of their house for the last time, the Doctor has to take a moment to compose himself, leaning against the aged blue door - a door that they painted so long ago now. Paint is peeling in places from cracks and splinters and what looks like more than a few blaster marks that never quite healed. The Doctor feels like the door - ancient and cracking at the seams.

 

Busy scrolling through her messages on her PDA, River is halfway through their yard before she realizes he's fallen behind. "Oh, my love, you really have to come with me! A library planet that has been sealed off for a hundred years with four-thousand missing people? You can't tell me you aren't dying to know what happened - I certainly am."

 

 _4,022._ The Doctor swallows the bitterness on his tongue as best as he can and forces his weary, weighted old bones to move, drawn toward her, as always. It is time to go now, and he has to let River find her own way to the Library and a painfully younger him. "Oh, you know how I feel about expeditions and archaeologists," he boings her hair teasingly, hoping she'll look at his hands rather than his face, where he can feel the cracks forming all over again.

 

When River glances up, ready to argue, the Doctor rummages in his pockets, needing the excuse to look away from her excitement. "Tell you what, just message when you finally get there, and I'll be waiting."

 

She accepts the psychic paper warily. "Really? This isn't just another excuse to get out of spending time with my colleagues?"

 

"Never. What do you take me for?" But his usual teasing sounds hollow even to his own ears. The Doctor takes a deep breath and steps back, eyes racing over River and trying to catalogue every last bit of her before he has to go. "See you around, Professor River Song."

 

But River is not having that. She catches his coat-sleeve before he can escape into the TARDIS and hauls him back for a proper goodbye snog, her hands clutching at him as though she can stop time from separating them just by the strength of her grip. Maybe she can. With River Song, the Doctor has long ago learnt that anything is possible.

 

If he kisses her all the more desperately in return, River just draws him closer and hums against his mouth, her fingers carding through his hair and her body pressed tightly to his. The Doctor is just deciding that he really never has to leave River's arms - timelines be damned - when she pulls back, her eyes catching his with the same air of sadness. When had River's eyes become so ancient? Had she always worn the weight of worlds of loss in her eyes or is it just because of him? The Doctor's hearts thunder as he squeezes his eyes shut against the threat of tears.

 

"I love you, always and completely." The words are a soft caress against his temple as River presses her lips there.

 

The Doctor nods stiffly, forcing his eyes open again. Their partings only ever became harder. He hopes River doesn't know why this time is more painful than most. She still has the Towers ahead of her: their proper goodbye. Only this feels almost worse in so many ways, now that he's had all this linear time with her. "I love you too, my River," he manages the words at last, his lips finding her forehead. "So much."

 

They are searing the words into one another's skin, both of them knowing that linearity is long past and only beginning-endings remain. "Well, then, I'll see you at the Library, sweetie." River's  voice is carefully light, with just the hint of a question as she steps away, her eyes refusing to leave his.

 

The Doctor musters his best smile. "Oh, you'll see me sooner than that."

 

River gasps with faux reproach, her eyes sparkling again. "Spoilers!"

 

"With you, River Song? Always."


End file.
